


Dedicated

by Vague_Shadows



Series: Desolate [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Idk i'm bad at tagging, Multi, Multiple Personalities, PTSD, Past Abuse, Polyamory, Psychological Trauma, Sequel, future!fic, past sexual trauma, same warning as all the stuff before this i guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-29
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-02 22:33:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 85,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1062435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vague_Shadows/pseuds/Vague_Shadows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life in the pack is as much of a roller coaster as ever; the important thing is they're still moving forward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> If you're reading this, you've been through the insanity of the other parts with me. Thank you; thank you; THANK YOU for staying along for the ride!!! I still can't quite believe y'all are willing to keep exploring this world with me! Y'all ROCK! I sincerely hope you enjoy the direction "Dedicated" takes!

 

**[approximately 1 year after Determined ends...]**

  
“Hey, man, so what’s up?” Stiles asks as he invites Scott into the house.  

He’d been worried that Scott had something that “needs to be said in person,” if Scott hadn’t sounded so damn happy on the phone.  Of course Scott’s sounded nothing but giddy since they found out for sure two weeks ago that Allison is pregnant with their first child.

“Well, I was wondering—Allison and I both were wondering—if you’d be Logan’s godfather?” Scott asks.

_Goddamn you and your puppy dog eyes Scott McCall.  Don’t fucking look at me like that._

“Dude, I’m flattered as hell that—”

“Who else would I pick?” Scott asks with a goofy grin that’s killing Stiles slowly. “You’re my best friend, Stiles. I—”

“But I can’t,” Stiles forces out determinedly. 

“What?” Scott asks, mood deflating instantly.   “What d’you mean you can’t?”

“I mean I can’t.  Being his godfather’s a big deal.  I mean, God forbid something happens to you and Allison, but if it did then I’m the one who helps raise the kid, and I’m not in any shape for that, man.  You know it as well as I do.”

“Stiles—”

“I will be a fucking awesome uncle.  I will teach that kid how to annoy the shit out of you.  I will come to his baseball games, get him crazy awesome presents every birthday, and be there for him however I can, but I will _not_ pretend I could raise him if you couldn’t.”

“ _Stiles—”_

“No.”

“Come on, Stiles. It’s not even—you wouldn’t have to if you didn’t want to, but—”

“It’s not about what I _want_ , Scott.  It’s about the kid, and the fact that I would be a fucking awful prospect for a parent.”

“No, you wouldn’t.  Plus you’ve got Derek and Isaac—”

“And Damon,” Stiles reminds.  “And Wretch.  You gonna ask them to be godfather, too?”

Scott frowns, and Stiles goes on.

“Of course you’re not, Scott, because they shouldn’t even be around your kids.”

“They’re not you.”

“Yes, they are, and you know it.”

“You haven’t regressed in a while now.  Soon you could be fine again.  You could talk to Morrell and—”

“No,” Stiles says flatly, “and you can keep your opinions on Morrell to yourself or you can get the fuck out.”

He feels a little guilty at the kicked puppy look Scott gives at the remark, but he should know better.  Morrell wants Stiles to resolve the three personas that have presented in what she’s diagnosed as Dissociative Identity Disorder.  Stiles is personally a fan of the way it works now.  He enjoys letting the traumatic times of the past fall on Damon and Wretch.  He’s glad to finally, _finally_ be able to separate the past from the present, to an extent anyway.  He’s made more progress in the past year thanks to Damon than anyone else has been able to do with a “healthy” option.  There were fights in the beginning when he announced he wasn’t going to be seeing Morrell anymore.  They all used to bring it up incessantly, and so Stiles drew his line in the sand: they could have Stiles, Damon, and Wretch, as is, or Stiles will leave the pack if they don’t want to deal with them; reconciling the three personalities is not an option he’s willing to explore. Ever.

“I know you want it to be me,” Stiles says, apology in his tone if not in his words.  “I’m sorry it can’t be.”

“You can still say yes,” Scott says.  “Even with the other two.  You could still be—”

“One third of an awesome godfather? Nah, dude, I’m sticking with just being Awesome Uncle Stiles,” he asserts again.  “Who’s godmother? Lydia?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Good. That’s plenty assurance for the kid. She’d do a good job with him if it ever came to that.”

“Stiles—”

“Scott, I’m begging you to let it go.”

_Because I can’t handle pretending I could be any kind of parent because it’ll get me thinking I could do it.  Even worse, it’ll get Derek or Isaac thinking I could do it, and I can’t.  It wouldn’t be fair to the kid.  I can’t even keep my own shit together, much less take care of anyone else.  It’s all I can manage to not totally burden Isaac and Derek all the fucking time._

“Okay,” Scott agrees, still moping.  “But if you ever change your mind, the job’s yours.”

“Thanks, man.”

 

**************************************************************************************************

 

There truly aren’t words for the pride bubbling up in Derek Hale the day Logan Christopher McCall comes into the world.  Naturally they’re all ecstatic to add the healthy baby boy to the pack, but the satisfaction of seeing the pack grow naturally rather than just by bite is something Derek couldn’t explain if he tried.  It’s an undeniable sign that the pack is progressing; it’s a sign that somehow, against all fucking odds, this pack is on the right track.  

“Wanna hold him?” Scott asks Derek, no doubt noticing how mesmerized Derek is with the tiny infant.  

Derek looks to Allison, who smiles and nods, before answering, “Yeah.” 

“Don’t worry, little dude,” Cora says.  “He looks all tough but he’s a total sucker for kids.”

“Shut up,” Derek mutters, though she’s right.

He manages to keep his facial expression in check for all of two seconds before he’s beaming like an idiot at the small face staring up at him with huge, deep blue eyes.  He relinquishes Logan as Cora reaches for him too soon and steals him away.

Logan is passed around under Allison’s watchful eye.  Melissa’s making sure she gets pictures of everything and everyone, a proud grandmother, though she’s favoring the less traditional title “MiMi” because she’s “not old enough to be a grandma.”  

“Okay, Pop,” Melissa says to Sheriff Stilinski.  “Your turn.”

Everyone knew that in many ways John was more a dad to Scott than his biological father ever was.  Scott further confirmed it when he told the sheriff to pick out a name to serve as Logan’s paternal grandfather.  Derek’s glad, given the excellent grandpa the sheriff’s sure to make and the fact that he won’t be getting any grandchildren otherwise. 

The thought casts a shadow on the bliss of the moment, so Derek casts it aside. 

_Now’s not the time to dwell on that.  Scott and Allison have a family. This is their moment, a happy moment; the rest doesn’t matter right now._

 

***************************************************************************************************************************

 

Logan’s four months old when Isaac, Derek, and Stiles babysit for the first time.  Stiles protested like hell, but Scott insisted.  Stiles planned to leave and go to Dad’s tonight, but, God help him, Logan’s just damn adorable.  He feels pretty in control of everything, and he can’t avoid this situation forever.  Derek and Isaac, of course, promise to keep an eye on Stiles in addition to Logan, watching carefully for any sign of regression, but the evening goes well.  Stiles can’t help feeling quietly triumphant when they make it to Logan’s bedtime with no catastrophic complications.  

When he starts to fuss a few hours later, Stiles heads for the nursery.  It takes a few minutes of quiet singing to get Logan back to sleep.  Stiles holds the infant close, swaying slightly to soothe him into a deeper slumber before laying him back down.  He senses more than sees someone come to the door and turns to see Isaac smiling at him with a look Stiles can read all too well.

“You’re going to make a good dad,” he says to Stiles, grin widening.

“Shut up. No, I’m not,” Stiles dismisses.

_Please stop talking. Please, Isaac, please._

“Calm down; I didn’t mean like tomorrow,” Isaac says.  “I just meant ya know eventually once—”

“I said shut up!” Stiles barks, and Logan wakes enough to start fretting. “Fuck,” Stiles mutters, bottling the anger as he shushes the child.  “Shhh, shhhh, hush little baby…”

Isaac’s gone by the time Stiles finishes the song and puts Logan back down in the crib.  Both Derek and Isaac are waiting in the den when he comes back out.  

“Don’t want to talk about it,” he informs them moodily, stalking into the kitchen.

“Stiles,” Isaac tries anyway, following behind him. “I didn’t mean to piss you off. I just—”

“We had this talk, didn’t we?” Stiles interrupts.  “Didn’t we have this fucking talk? Because I remember arguing and crying and yelling and a really fucking shitty night with all of us in different beds, so I’m pretty fucking sure we’ve had this talk.”

“That was over a year ago, Stiles. We—” 

“I told you both _multiple times_ that kids were not an option for me. I’m not burdening some _child_ with—”

“You’re not a burden!”

“Yeah, well I’m damn sure not in any shape to be a parent.  There is a reason I am not Logan’s godfather.  This is not a topic that’s up for discussion.”

_It can’t be an option. It just fucking can’t. No matter how much I want kids.  God, I want kids. I always wanted kids. I fucking love kids, and you both know it. But I won’t bring a child into this life. I won’t make a child deal with my nightmares and seizures and flashbacks. I won’t make my child deal with Daddy turning into Damon and Wretch at any moment.  I won’t. I will not be that selfish.  I’m not that fucking selfish._

_And you have me or you can have kids.  We can’t do both._

“I’ll be back in a little bit,” Stiles says, heading for the back door, grabbing the keys to the ATV off the wall.  

 

*****************************************************************************************************************************************

 

 

When Stiles finally comes back after an hour or so, the anger is gone and it’s replaced by a look of melancholy that’s infinitely worse.  He shrugs off the hand Derek reaches toward him and goes straight to the shower and then gets in bed.  When Isaac and Derek join him half an hour later, he doesn’t feign sleep, but he also doesn’t speak.  It’s not until Derek’s right on the edge of sleep that any of them break the silence.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles whispers brokenly.  “I’m sorry, but I just—I _can’t_.”

His voice breaks on the last word, and Derek’s heart shatters.  He’s sitting up and pulling Stiles into an embrace in the next instant.

“It’s okay, Stiles,” Isaac promises. “You—”

“It’s not,” Stiles insists miserably.  “It’s really not.  You both want kids. I can tell.  I can see it in the way you are with Logan, and, dammit you’re both so fucking good with him and you should be parents. You _should._ And you shouldn’t have to give that up for me after everything else you’ve had to—”

“Hey,” Derek interrupts sharply.  “Don’t talk like that. We’re _fine_ , Stiles. We’ve got you. It’s _more_ than enough. You hear me?”

“I just—”

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” Isaac adds.  “You were right. We had this talk. We agreed no kids.  I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

Derek hates this.  He knows how scared Stiles is to take that step, but he also knows how much Isaac wants kids.  While he wishes they could have a fuller family, Derek can accept that Stiles isn’t well enough to add more stressors, not really, and they would be putting a lot of unfair strain on any kid they raised. 

The knowledge doesn’t make it any easier. 

 

*************************************************************************************************************************

 

Damon wakes before Derek and Isaac, wondering what’s sent Stiles running this time.  He lies between them in bed, enjoying the feeling of safety and home, letting it calm him as he tries to drift back to sleep though his training screams for him to get up and be useful.

_I can wait here. I’m useful by existing. Derek says I’m useful just by existing. I’m not earning my place.  It’s okay to be idle. I’m still good._

 Thankfully it’s not long before Derek stirs.  He yawns widely and stretches, and Damon’s careful not to flinch when the Alpha’s fist comes up toward the head of the bed.

_Derek’s good. Derek won’t hurt me. I’m okay._

“Good morning, Derek,” he greets with a smile.

“Damon?” Derek asks.

“Yes, Derek.” 

As expected, just a hint of disappointment crosses Derek’s face at the news.  Derek and Isaac assure him all the time that it’s okay that he isn’t Stiles, but Damon can tell they like Stiles better.  They married Stiles. They love Stiles.   They love Damon, too, just not the same way, not as much.  Still, it’s something, and so much more than he thought a beta could ever have; he’s grateful for the goodness of this pack.

“Want to help me make breakfast?” Derek asks.

“French toast?” Damon hopes.  “If you’d like that?”

“Sounds great.  We just went shopping yesterday, so we should have everything we need.”

“I can do it, Derek. You can stay in bed if you want.”

“Nah, I don’t mind. Come on,” he beckons, getting up out of bed and waiting for Stiles to follow.  

Derek stops so suddenly at the door that Damon almost runs into him.  

“One thing,” he says as he turns to face Stiles.

“Yes, Derek?” Damon replies, trying to quell the apprehension building in the moment.

“We’re—uh—babysitting, for Scott and Allison. You remember she was pregnant?”

The last time Damon saw the huntress she was due any day; he’s glad Stiles was there when the child was born, even if it means he missed what was probably an excellent time for the pack.  

“Yes.  How old is he now? Have I been gone long?”

“He’s four months old,” Derek says, “nearly five.”

“Oh,” Damon replies, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

He must not do a very good job because Derek looks at him pityingly before saying, “I’m sorry you missed it, Damon.  We’ve got pictures and things.”

“Stiles saw it, right? Not the other one?”

_Not the weak one.  Tell me the wretch didn’t steal the good time from both of us._

“Yeah, Stiles was here for it.”

“That’s good,” he says, smiling.  “Can I—could I see the pictures after I cook breakfast?”

Derek stares at him a moment or two with a look Damon can’t read before he finds his voice again.

“Unless I can do something else instead,” he adds quickly, in case this look has some kind of disapproval behind it.  “I didn’t mean to—”

“Of course you can,” Derek says.  “I’ll show you first thing after breakfast, and you—you can see him yourself, since he’s here. Just—don’t be startled if he cries or anything,” Derek says, “and don’t hurt him—not that I think you would, just—be careful around him.”

“Yes, Derek, of course.  I’d never threaten him, Derek, _never_ , not the first child to the new pack. He’ll be Alpha one day.  He’s to be protected and respected.   I’ll be good with him; I promise, Derek.”

“Thanks, Damon,” Derek replies earnestly.  “I should—uh—go check on him actually.  Isaac was up with him a few hours ago, but maybe he’s hungry again. Can you start breakfast without me?”

“Yes.”

“And maybe put a bowl of water in the microwave so we can warm the bottle?”

“I will.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m happy to, Derek.”

 

***********************************************************************************************************************************

 

Derek has to take a moment to collect himself when he steps into the nursery because Stiles’ argument against children has just taken on a heart-wrenching new level of reality.

_What if Stiles was the one who missed the first four months of Logan’s life? What if it’s Damon who’s there to see Logan’s first birthday? He’s not even ours, just pack, and I still don’t think I could stand it without Stiles.  If he came back to realize he’d missed something big, he’d never forgive himself; he’d blame himself for making those moments less than perfect.  We’d have to share with videos and pictures the way I’m about to try and share with Damon._

When the topic first arose they argued more than once that it wouldn’t be terribly different than having a parent who traveled for work somehow.  They pointed out that the child wouldn’t be “normal” anyway because life in a werewolf pack comes with a need to take on responsibility early, no matter how much they may all want to protect the kids.  Derek knew that having Stiles as a father wouldn’t be easy, but it could also be truly fantastic.  Seeing how well Stiles has done these past few months only furthered the small glimmer of hope that one day they’d reach a point where they could at least revisit the conversation again.  

Now it’s horrifyingly clear that’s not going to happen unless Stiles manages to reconcile the three personalities that have presented thus far, and Derek can’t bring himself to push too hard for that.  Maybe it makes him a horrible person, but he decided early on after Damon became semi-regular that he prefers having almost-normal Stiles part-time—with just a few breaks here and there that are manageable—to having traumatized Stiles all the time.  It’s not to say that all of Stiles’ PTSD symptoms have disappeared, but it doesn’t take much to see that the longer Damon’s been around the better Stiles has gotten and the less often the _fully_ regressed “Wretch,” as Stiles has named the third personality, appears. 

Logan begins to fuss, pulling Derek from his thoughts, and he goes to the crib to scoop up the infant.  Adopting a smile and a slightly embarrassing baby voice, he coos Logan to giggles rather than whines.  

 

****************************************************************************************************************************************

 

Isaac watches as Damon plays peek-a-boo with Logan from across the room.  He’s kept a safe distance but a watchful eye all morning.  It’s as though he’s afraid Logan’s something precious and breakable he might harm.  There are much worse ways he might’ve taken to the situation, and Isaac’s grateful it went over so easily.  Still, every so often he catches a look of sadness on Damon’s face, and it’s bugging the hell out of him.  When Logan starts to fuss for his midmorning bottle, Damon hurries readily to prepare it, handing it off before asking if he can please go outside.

“Of course,” Derek tells him.  

“If you need anything, I’ll just—I’ll be right there.  Anything at all. I don’t mind; I just—”

“You don’t have to explain. It’s okay.  Thank you for warming the bottle; take as much time outside as you want.”

“Thank you, Derek.”

Isaac follows him out the back door to find him pacing, running fingers through his hair as he mutters to himself in words too quick and quiet for Isaac to quite make out.  He looks so much like Stiles sometimes it’s downright unsettling; Isaac’s grown used to Damon, and though he looks like Stiles it’s more like they’re identical twins.  Each version of Stiles is identical at first glance, but there are mannerisms and tells that reveal they're entirely different entities if you really know them.

“Everything okay?” Isaac asks, though clearly it’s not.

Damon stops pacing to look at him, biting at his lip the same way Stiles does and adding to the oddity of the moment.  

“Derek says it’s okay to do what I want to,” he says, words casting off any illusion of Stiles left in the person before Isaac.  

“Yes.”

“And—and helping anyone in the pack or friends of the pack counts as being useful.”

“Yes,” Isaac confirms again, wondering where this logic is headed and what’s sparked it.

“I—I—want—I want—”

“Whatever you want, it’s okay,” Isaac swears because it honestly looks as though Damon’s in physical pain trying to get the words out.

“I want to go to the human’s house,” he blurts, sentence coming out in one jumbled word.  “No, sorry, not the human the sheriff’s—my—my dad’s house,” he corrects.  

“Huh?” Isaac asks, thoroughly dumfounded.

“I want to go to my dad’s house,” Damon asserts more confidently this time.  “If that’s okay and if Derek doesn’t need me here, I’ll go and help at his house.”

“Derek won’t mind.  I know your dad won’t either.  If you want to go, I’ll drive you.”

Some of the tension in Damon releases at the agreement, and Damon lets out a breath he must’ve been holding while he waited for an answer.  Isaac’s trying like hell to understand the motivation behind this, but he comes up with nothing than can explain it.  Instead he just goes back inside to fetch the keys and check with Derek before heading out for the sheriff’s.  Damon doesn’t speak the whole way there; he looks out the window, jaw straining as though he’s got his teeth clenched.  There’s a slight tremor in his hands that he’s trying to hide by balling his fists, but Isaac knows the signs of stress too well to overlook them.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks for the third time since they left home.  

“Yes, Isaac.  I want to stay at my dad’s house.”

“Wait, _stay_? You want us to stay?”

“No, you should go—go home and help Derek.”

“You want me to leave you at your dad’s?”

“Yes,” Damon replies, but the word comes out in a hoarse croak that betrays his trepidation.

“Why?” 

“Derek said I can do things I want to.  I want to be useful. I want to be useful at my dad’s house and—and you can be useful for Derek at the pack house and—and it’ll be good, won’t it? It’ll be okay?”

“Sure, that’s fine if it’s what you want, but—I just don’t understand, I guess. You don’t think Derek’s unhappy with you, do you? You don’t think we don’t want you at the house with us?”

“No, Isaac, I know I have a place at the house,” Damon answers easily enough.   

“Okay.”

“So I—I can stay at my dad’s house?”

“Yeah, you can stay Damon, as long as you want to.”

_I just don’t know why you want to._

 

********************************************************************************************************************* 

 

Isaac walks with him to the door though Damon was hoping he wouldn’t.  It will be harder to watch Isaac walk away than if Damon had done the leaving.  Still, he can do this.  This place smells enough of pack.  He has good memories of it and of his father.  He can stay here and be good.  He will.

_I’m okay. I’m okay.  I’m being useful and being good to Derek and Isaac. I’m okay. I’m okay._

“Hey, boys,” Dad greets with a wide smile as they walk in and he closes the door behind them.  “Good to see you.”

“You too,” Isaac says.  “We didn’t interrupt anything, did we?”

“Beer and football,” he replies with a grin.  “I’m a very busy man.”

It’s a joke because Isaac laughs; Damon mimics the sound, forcing a smile.

“You okay, kiddo?” Dad asks Damon.

He’s never called Damon by name, just “kiddo” and “Stiles” back before Derek allowed Damon his name back.  Damon nods because he doesn’t trust his voice.

“He—uh—he wants to stay,” Isaac says, “and—uh—hang out just you and him a while.”

“Oh?” Dad replies; he looks as confused as Isaac though he masks it quickly with a smile.  “Sure.  I’d love for you to stay a while.”

“I’ll be good,” Damon promises.  “I won’t hurt you; I promise.  I’ll do all the cooking, and I can clean. I saw the leaves in the yard: I can—”

“You never have to prove to me why you should stay here,” Dad interrupts.  “You are welcome here _always._ Understand?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Thank _you_.  It’ll be nice to have some company for the afternoon.”

He forces a smile, trying not to think about how long he may really need to stay.  He manages to keep it together when Isaac leaves after a few more minutes of small talk.  He busies himself preparing sandwiches for an early lunch, examining the ingredients available for dinner; it’s not as well stocked as the pantry at the pack house, but there’s plenty to work with.  

“Can I help with anything?” Dad wonders.

“I can do it all.”

“Thanks.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Look, kiddo, I—I’m thrilled than you’re here, I really am,” Dad says, and Stiles pauses in his sandwich making to turn, dread building in him at the prediction of where this statement may be headed.

_Don’t send me home. Don’t. Wait and send Stiles home to them. Please._

“I just—I want to understand why you’re here.”

“I’m being useful,” he replies; it’s not a lie really.  “I’m helping someone who matters to the pack, so it counts as being useful for the Alpha, for Derek.”

His father nods but doesn’t leave.  

“Did—did something happen at home?”

“No.”

“Did anyone hurt you?”

“No! Derek’s a good Alpha! He _never_ hurts me, not ever! No matter how bad I am, Derek’s always good!”

“I know. I know Derek’s good.  Calm down; it’s okay.”

It’s only then that Damon realizes he was advancing on the human as he asserted. He’s surprised the man didn’t retreat more than the one step back with his hands up in a show of peace.  Damon moves back toward the counter, quelling the outburst.

“I wasn’t trying to insult Derek.  I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Yes,” Damon replies.  “Thank you,” he adds as an afterthought.  “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Come on, kiddo; we both know you’re much more confortable at home with Derek and Isaac.  There’s got to be a reason you’d pick here and not a direct packmate’s house.  Why not be useful to Scott or—wait, you three had Logan, didn’t you? You were babysitting.”

Damon nods.  “Yes, the Alpha’s taking care of him.”

“Is that why you’re here? You don’t want to be around the baby?”

Damon wishes Dad would stop guessing.  It’s none of his business why Damon’s here.  It’s not his place to challenge it unless for some reason Damon starts breaking rules.  

_Can’t you just leave it alone?_

Instead of answering directly Damon just nods; it’s another half-truth, but it’ll do for now; he can lie to the human without much guilt.

 

*****************************************************************************************************************************

 

The sheriff sends a text that informs Derek and Isaac that the reason Damon left was because of Logan.  Derek thought he’d been doing fine with the child, but then again it’s sure not the first time he couldn’t work out what was going through Damon’s mind.  Typical rules don’t apply with Damon, to say the fucking least.  With that information in mind, they head to the sheriff’s once Scott picks up Logan that afternoon.  While Derek’s thrilled Damon can handle being away, he knows the extra stress it must put on him to be with someone who isn’t directly pack.  Best to get him home and not risk full regression.

It’s odd to ring the doorbell at the sheriff’s, but they don’t want to catch Damon off guard.  It seems they only partially succeeded when Damon answers the door with a worried look.

“Do you need something, Derek? Should I come back to the house?”

“Logan’s not there anymore if you want to come home,” Derek replies.  “We thought we might all have dinner here first though.”

“I have pork chops thawing.”

“Mind if we mooch?” Isaac asks the sheriff.

“Not at all.  I think Sti—he said something about a pear glaze for those pork chops,” the sheriff adds.  “I’d hate for you two to miss out. Come on in.”

They all trod into the den.  Damon abandons the game on television eventually to busy himself in the kitchen.  Derek can hear him humming to the radio, and it eases his nerves a little.  Damon really is comfortable here—well, comfortable enough anyway.  He calls them to a fantastic dinner; they make small talk as the stuff their faces; all in all Derek reckons it’s been an awesome day.  That is, until they start to leave.

“Ready, Damon?” Derek wonders.

“I—I could—I could stay, Derek,” he replies quietly, head bowed so he doesn’t have to look at anyone.

“Do you want to stay?”

He nods, still not looking up, and as much as Derek may want to believe that Damon has progressed to the point of being able to stay away from home, he can’t help the knowing feeling that something is wrong.   He holds in a sigh, stepping toward the timid beta; Damon flinches back before he reins himself in and plants his feet.  

“I’m not going to hurt you; I’m not angry,” Derek says.  “I want you to look at me though, and answer the question again but out loud, okay? There’s no wrong answer. Just be honest.  Do you want to stay here with your dad instead of going home with me and Isaac?”

 

***************************************************************************************************

 

Damon drags his gaze up to meet Derek’s, knowing he couldn’t get away with the lie even if he dared.  Derek will be able to tell; he can always tell when Damon’s unhappy.  For once Damon’s a little resentful of the fact.

_I could be better for you if you’d just stop worrying so much about what I prefer._

He takes a deep breath, trying to find words to explain.  A simple “no” will just make Derek take him back to the pack house, and that will ruin it.  Damon doesn’t think he can bear going back now he sees what a burden he’s casting.  Derek says he’s never a burden, but he’s pretty sure now that what it means is that Damon isn’t a burden because eventually he’ll be Stiles again.  It’s better than no Stiles at all for them, but it still doesn’t mean Damon’s as good as Stiles could be.  In the end, he can’t figure out what to say, and tears of shame and frustration force their way to the surface.   He breaks Derek’s gaze to wipe at them.  

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, not sure what else to say.

_I’m sorry I’m not Stiles.  I’m sorry I didn’t answer your question.  I’m sorry I’m crying like a pathetic, useless—_

He whimpers and pulls away when Derek’s hand comes down on his shoulder, realizing too late that it’s a comforting gesture.  

“I’m sorry, Derek. I’m sorry. I know you won’t hurt me.  I know I could be useful to you at home, but—but I can stay here.  I can.  I’ll be good.  I’ll do whatever my dad needs and keep him safe and if I’m here on the full moon still I can lock myself in the basement and—”

“Full moon?” Isaac interrupts.  “Damon, how long were you going to stay?”

“Until Stiles comes back, and then—then he could go home with you.  I could always stay here.  Dad says he doesn’t mind, and I can be good.  I can always come here when Stiles goes away—or the other one.  Whenever I’m the one here I can be out of the way.  I don’t mind. I promise.  I’ll be good here; I’ll be useful.”

“Out of the way?” Derek repeats.  “Damon, you’re not in the way.”

“Thank you, Alph—Derek,” he answers quietly, not daring to contradict.

“Tell me why you would think that,” Derek requests.  

“Please, Derek, I can be good if you’ll let me stay here, _please,_ ” Damon swears, hoping Derek will just give in and let the moment pass.

 _It’s hard enough without you lying to make me feel better.  Please let me do this for you and Isaac.  Please._  

“Your dad says Logan was the reason you came here today.  Was it? Is it something to do with that?”

Damon nods.

“What about Logan? You don’t like being around him? That’s okay. We don’t have to babysit when you—”

“No, Derek, I like him,” Damon assures.  

“So if you weren’t uncomfortable, why did you want to leave the house today? What overshadows the anxiety of being away from your Alpha without packmates?” Isaac wonders.  

“I saw—I saw the videos of Stiles with Logan,” he says, “and—and Derek fed him and you made him laugh and—and—and you were all so sure of what to do, and so happy to have him and—I thought—I thought it’s something you _should_ have.  You’re so patient and kind and careful with me, I know you could be good parents.  I couldn’t imagine why you’re not—until—until I realized it—it was probably me,” he admits woefully.  “I couldn’t be a good parent, and I’m there when Stiles goes away.  But I don’t have to be. I can stay here, or wherever you want me to.  I won’t be in the way. I don’t want to be in the way. I don’t.  I’m not a burden; I promise. I can be—”

“Stop, stop it,” Isaac interrupts, voice breaking.  

He pulls Damon into a tight embrace, and Damon takes a deep breath through his tears so he can relax into it, wrapping his arms back around Isaac.

“It’s not your fault,” Isaac promises.  “We don’t want you out of the way.  We want you with us.”

_No you don’t.  You want Stiles.  Stiles could be a father.  He’s better for the pack than me.  Let me get out of the way.  Pretend I’m not here to ruin everything. Please just leave me here so I don’t deny the best Alpha any beta could wish for the chance to raise his own child to be a successor. I can’t bear the shame of being the obstacle that stands in the way of it. I can’t._

 

*****************************************************************************************************************************************

 

Isaac struggles to find words as Stiles—Damon sobs into his shoulder.  The lamentations sound so horribly familiar, just a more extreme version of the dejectedness Stiles has shared before.  Neither Isaac nor Derek hasn’t ever been able to find words to make Stiles believe that they wouldn’t trade anything, not even the chance at having kids, for being with Stiles.  How the hell are they supposed to figure out how to make _Damon_ of all people understand?

“We love you; you know that?” Isaac manages.  “I know that—that you worry you’re not Stiles, but we love you no matter who you are, understand?”

“I wish I could figure out how to make him come back. I—”

“Hey,” Derek interrupts.   “You heard Isaac.  It’s not your fault, Damon.”

“You should have everything, Derek.  You’re a good Alpha; you should—”

“And, for the record,” Derek goes on, “Stiles doesn’t want kids.”

“What?” Damon replies with a small hiccup of surprise.

“Stiles doesn’t want kids; that’s why we’re not going to have any.”

“He just wants to be Awesome Uncle Stiles,” Isaac confirms.

It’s true enough.  Damon may be one of the reasons they’re not having kids, but there’s no way in hell will Isaac ever tell him that. 

“You can be Awesome Uncle Damon,” Derek adds.  “You were great with him today; you really were.”

“I’m not—not the reason you don’t—don’t have—”

“No, it’s not your fault at all.  You’re a good, valuable member of this pack,” Derek swears.  

“Of this _family_ ,” Isaac expounds.  “You’re not in the way.  You’re as much a part of the whole as any of us, okay?”

Damon nods, hiding his face in Isaac’s shoulder again.  Isaac waits for him to collect himself.  Derek moves slowly forward, reaching slowly to put a hand on Stiles’ shoulder.  

“So now that’s settled, what d’you say we all go home?” 

“Yes, Derek thank you,” Damon says, leaving Isaac’s embrace to cling to Derek.   “Thank you; thank you.  I want to go home and be Uncle Damon and help with Logan and the other kids the pack will have.  There will be more Derek. The pack will grow. You’re good. You and Isaac and all the others.  The pack will grow, and I’ll help.  I promise. I want to help.  I’ll work on my control more and more so you don’t have to worry about my hurting anyone, ever.”

“I appreciate that; I’m sure you’ll be a great uncle.  Come on; let’s go home.”

Isaac stands frozen as Derek leads Damon out to the car.  

“You all right, son?” the sheriff asks quietly, putting a comforting arm around Isaac’s shoulders.

“I’ve pushed him from the beginning about kids,” Isaac says, hoping Damon’s not listening but keeping his words vague just in case.  “I kept pushing.  Now the anxiety of it is presenting in two personalities? What the hell was I thinking? Why would I—”

“This isn’t your fault either,” the sheriff reminds, “but this is—it’s something you’ve got to come to terms with.  You know how unyielding Stiles can be when he makes up his mind, and he’s got good reason this time.”

“I’m letting it go,” Isaac declares.  “I’ll let it rest from here on out.”

_I won’t be selfish enough to keep watching him deal with the stress of the suggestion.  I’ll never be the one to bring it up again.  We’re not going to have kids, and that’s that.  We’re going to be awesome uncles.  That’s the plan._

_Not that the universe ever seems to care what our plan is…_

 


	2. Chapter 1

         

**PLEASE NOTE: This work will now start off from about 2 years from the end of the prologue**

 

 

         Isaac comes in from class totally wiped wanting nothing more than to plop onto the couch and not move for the rest of the evening.  Those plans change immediately once a little voice trills, “Izzy!”

            _One of these days I’m going to murder Stiles for teaching him to call me that._

            “Hey, buddy,” Isaac greets as Logan comes to meet him as fast as his small legs can run.  “You helping make supper?” Isaac guesses judging from the fact that he’s covered nearly head to toe in flour. 

            “Yep. Sgetti!”

            “Sgetti, huh?” Isaac replies.  “Sounds good.”

            “Can you come make the salad?” Stiles calls from the kitchen.

            “What’d’ya think, Logan? Can we make the salad?” Isaac wonders.

            “No.”

            “No?”

            “Salad gwoss!”

            Isaac can’t help but chuckle. 

            “Yep, you’re a McCall.”

            “Logan Cwistopher McCall!” he confirms proudly. 

            “Allison’s got the flu,” Stiles informs as Isaac walks into the kitchen.   “Scott’s not quite up for a toddler _and_ a newborn _and_ a sick wife. Mimi’s got Melanie, but Scott asked if we could take this little munchkin for the evening.”

            “Such a hardship,” Isaac jokes. 

            Logan’s about the coolest toddler Isaac’s even known—not that he’s know many.  He’s as easy-going as his father, though he’s got a temper that’s sure to be trouble as he gets older.  His terrible twos were truly awful, and his mother’s got a few scars from wolfy temper tantrums.  Still, it’s impossible not to love the hell out of the little guy, especially when he leaves Isaac’s arms to go play “drums” on the pots Stiles has set of the floor for him, singing a nonsensical song of his own creation.

 

******************************************************************

 

            “You still haven’t given us a birthday list,” Derek reminds Stiles as they all climb into bed.

            “It’s not for another three weeks, dude,” Stiles replies.

            “You know he hates to plan anything last minute,” Isaac replies, “and God help us all if Lydia finds out we haven’t been planning something for weeks and weeks.”

            “I’ll make a list,” Stiles agrees.  “Remind me tomorrow.”

            He grins mischievously into the dark as he slides his hands down their bodies under the covers.

            “Of course, there’s a few things I can think of tonight,” he adds.

 

******************************************************************

 

Derek falls asleep sated and spent, but he wakes with a start when his phone blasts its piercing ring through the quiet bedroom at three am.  The name on the screen reads “Deaton” and that only adds to Derek’s dread as he swipes the screen to answer.

“Deaton? What’s wrong?”

            “We’ve got a bit of a situation.”

            “What kind of situation?” he demands, cursing Deaton’s inability to _ever_ get directly to the point.

            “You know the Grayson Pack—the family in Oregon.”

            “Yeah.”

            “They’ve been attacked—wiped out.”

            “Wiped out?”

            “Except for two—and their Emissary.”

            “And what does that have to do with us? Is the threat coming this way?”

            “No, but the survivors are; their Emissary, she’s an old friend.  She asked a favor.  I’m helping her care for them, but they’re going to need a pack.”

            “You know I can’t promise that without—”

            “They’re children.”

            “What?”

            “They’re children,” Deaton repeats.   “Young and injured, but when the boy wakes he’ll—”

            “He’ll have the power of an Alpha in a kid’s mind.”

            “In a terrified kid’s mind.”

            “Fuck.”

            _This could be very, very bad._

            “I know it’s a lot to ask, Derek, but they need a pack; your pack’s stable. It’s strong.  They’re too young to be on their own.  They need help.”

            “I can be there in fifteen minutes.”

            “Good; they’ll be here in ten.”

 

***************************************************************

 

             

Isaac looks down on the young werewolf healing on Deaton’s table.  Collin Grayson, age ten, according to Deaton.  They’ve cleaned him up considerably from the state he arrived in—covered in soot and blood, small body struggling to heal even with the power of the Alpha driving the repairs.  Luckily his four-year-old sister, Addie, seems to have been spared the worst of the fight.  She’s still got a nasty knot on her head, and there’s a bald spot amongst her long blonde curls where Deaton had to shave away to stitch the cut up in an attempt to help until she started healing herself. Her delicate build, fair skin and Disney princess golden locks seem such a contradiction to her brother’s dark complexion and hair styled in a militaristic buzz cut; if Isaac didn’t know they were siblings, he doubts he’d guess it from a glance at them.

            Collin whines a bit and begins to stir.  He’s still heavily sedated, more because of his Alpha abilities than any still-healing injuries.  He opens his eyes, blinking as he focuses on Isaac’s face.  Isaac sees the panic in his eyes when the kid realizes he can’t fight or flee.

“It’s all right,” Isaac assures. “I’m not gonna hurt you, okay?”

            The boy nods sluggishly, wincing at the movement, eyes still fearful. 

            “You’re Collin, right?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Nice to meet you, Collin.  I’m Isaac.  I’m here to help. You’re safe now.”

            “Addie,” he says, eyes darting around the room and coming to a rest on the cot beside him where his sister lies.  “Is she—”

            “She should be okay,” Isaac promises.  “Dr. Deaton’s really good. He knows what he’s doing.”

            The boy sighs in relief, but tenses again almost immediately.

            “Can I—can I talk to your Alpha?” Collin wonders.  “I need to announce us—ask permission to stay—I don’t have a gift or anything, but we could—”

            “It’s okay,” Isaac interrupts.  “You don’t have to worry about the old customs so much.  Derek—he’s the Alpha—he won’t mind if you don’t have it just right. Don’t worry.”

“But I can see him? Talk to him? I still have to—”

“Yeah, of course; he just thought it might be better if I came in first.  He didn’t want to scare you while you were hurt.”

“I’m not scared,” Collin answers, tremor in the assertion giving him away, but Isaac doesn’t call him on it.  “I just—the medicine, whatever he gave me—I can’t think straight. I’m confused; I’m not—”

“Right,” Isaac agrees.  “Yeah, of course. Are you—you want to rest a while before—”

“No, I want to talk to your Alpha.” He seems to realize how harsh the demand came.  “I mean—please, I—can I please talk to the Alpha?”

It’s the first hint of the underlying aggression in the kid, and Isaac knows it’ll be better for all of them if he’s hindered from shifting when Derek comes in the room.  The kid’s right; now will be better.

 

 

**********************************************************************

 

            “Alpha Hale,” the kid greets with as much a respectful nod as he can manage as Derek walks in.

            “Alpha Grayson,” Derek replies with a nod of his own.  
            His eyes widen in surprise at the title. Derek expected as much.  It took Laura a long time to get accustomed to it too and this kid’s only been an Alpha for all of six or seven hours—most of which he was unconscious.

            “I—I come with no challenge to—to—” the kid stutters, struggling to remember the phrases he’s been taught through the haze of his sedation.  “To ask that we—that we may stay near Hale territory making—making—making no claims to rival the pack’s place here.”

            The kid’s been taught well.  Derek can remember being drilled on the same customs as a kid, not all packs bother, but the family packs do—old traditions of respect passed down through the years.

            “You can stay as long as you need to,” Derek tells him.  “We’ll offer protection while you and your sister heal.  We want to help.”

            “Thank you, Alpha Hale.”

            “Call me Derek. Formalities aren’t necessary here.”

            “I’m Collin.”

             “We’ll talk more later, Collin, okay?—help you figure out what your next steps are. For now, you need to rest—heal—and you understand you have Alpha power now? You need to be very careful when you wake up next time.”

            “Yeah—Yeah, I can—I’ll control it.”

            “My betas are going to help take care of you two.”

            “Thanks, Derek.”

            “You’re welcome.  We want to help.”  Collin’s eyes are drooping as the conversation lulls.  “We’ll talk in the morning, okay? Get some rest.  You’re safe here.”

            Collin mumbles something that sounds vaguely like a “Thank you” but he’s asleep again before Derek even makes it back out to the front of the office.  Isaac and Stiles are waiting for him.  He can practically see the gears turning in both their minds as they work through all the steps they could take next. 

            “I think I should offer them a place with our pack,” Derek says.  “In the morning, once they’re more healed and awake and everything.”

“Are we really the best pack for them?” Stiles wonders. “I mean—”

“You think it’s easy to find a decent pack to get into?” Derek demands more harshly than he intends. “It’s damn near impossible.  Even if you find a decent one, coming into a pack as a desperate orphan puts you straight at the bottom. You’ve heard Cora talk about Omega being better than some of her packs.  You of all people know how bad other Alphas can get.  Why do you think Laura and I never joined anyone else?”

Once the words start Derek can’t stop.  They’ve _got_ to understand why he can’t walk away from these two.  He can’t look at the kids without seeing himself and Laura all those years ago, scared as hell and just trying to figure out what the fuck to do.  If he can keep them from that kind of constant worry and fear, he’s got to.  He’s got to do what no one did for them—including the Grayson Pack, but Collin and Addie can’t help their Grandfather’s actions.

            “We were constantly just trying not to piss packs off by crossing territory lines.  It was fucking miserable.  We made due, but they’re not old enough to shoulder that same shitty life.  I’m not sending them out there to just figure it out on their own.  I’m not,” Derek declares.   “We can let social services find a foster home or something if you don’t want them to live at the house with us, but I _have_ to offer them a place in the pack.  You get that?”

            “Derek, I’m not saying I don’t _want_ them in the pack,” Stiles clarifies.  “I know packs like us are the exception, not the rule.”

            “Then what’s the problem?”

            “I just—our pack’s complicated.  We’re just starting out. We—”

            “We’re a family,” Isaac interjects.  “We’ve got resources to spare.  We’ve got wolves who’ll accept them in easily enough; they won’t be the outsiders with us.  We can make them feel like they really belong. We’re a good bet, even with the complications.  If they don’t like it here, we can try to find them something else.  For now, I say we extend the offer.”

            “I just—”

            “There are much worse packmates to have than Damon and Wretch,” Derek points out.  “We both know that.  We’ll make sure the decisions keep the kids’ best interests, but we’re a good pack even if we are a little complicated, right?”

Okay,” Stiles agrees to Derek’s relief.  “Okay, yeah.  Yeah, you’re right.”

            “Call the pack.  I need to talk to everyone first,” Derek says.  “Tell everyone to meet here first thing.”

            _I’m inviting them whether the others like it or not, but I’ll at least pretend to hear them out if they don’t want this_

 

**********************************************************

 

            Isaac sums up the situation, but it’s Derek who makes the proposal.

            “I think we should invite them to stay,” Derek says, “but that’s not a decision to be made on my own.  I want to hear what you all have to—”

            “Of _course_ we invite them in,” Allison replies. “They’re kids for Chrissake.  We can’t just throw them out there on their own.”

            “Logan and Melanie could use some company anyway,” Scott adds.

            “Dude, I’m all for more rugrats as long as I get to send them home,” Jackson says.  “And hey, no diaper duty for these two, that’s a bonus.”

            “Oh, come on.  You’ve had to change like _two_ diapers ever,” Scott replies with a roll of his eyes.

            “It was enough, McCall,” Jackson quips back with an exaggerated shudder.  “Never again.”

            “Lydia?” Derek wonders to the tablet projecting her face to the room. 

            She’s presenting a paper at a mathematics conference in Dallas, so they had to make due with a Skype call.

            “More kids to spoil?” she answers.  “Count me in. ”

            It takes everything in Isaac to keep his excitement in check. He knows Stiles has reservations.  He knows this will put a new weight on Derek’s shoulders as Alpha.  He hopes to God Damon and Wretch don’t add to the chaos just yet.

            _But kids.  We could have kids._

_We’re better than the foster families they’d go to who can’t handle their werewolf side.  We’re a good option.  Stiles is more stable than he gives himself credit for.  We haven’t seen Wretch in months or Damon in weeks.  We can explain it all well enough.  We know how to field most of our complications.  These kids have already been through a lot. They grew up in a pack. They’re tougher than most.  They just need a safe place and people who care.  We don’t have to be perfect.  We can be good for them though; we can be more than enough._

_We could have kids._

 

*******************************************************************

 

            “Scott,” Derek says as they all stand to leave.  “Allison, I need to speak with you two a second.”

            Derek’s still not sure how he wants this conversation to go, but it’s got to be had regardless.  

            “What’s up?” Scott wonders.

            “Derek, I want the kids in the pack,” Allison starts, “but we have a toddler and a human newborn.  We can’t—”

            “I’m not asking you to take them under your roof,” Derek says.  “We’ll sort that out with the kids.  Stiles and Isaac have agreed we’ll offer them a place at our house or they can choose to go with social services.”

            “Oh,” Allison says, look of confusion now matching her husband’s.  “Then what?”

            “As of this moment,” Derek says.  “Logan would inherit the position of Alpha in this pack.”

            “Logan is _three._ ”

            “Logan is the first child born to the newly reformed pack.  I have no children.  The inherited spot would fall to him.”

            “When the fuck were you planning to—”

            “I didn’t think we would need to have this conversation for _years_.  I thought—I thought when he was five or six, we could talk it out.  Tell him.  I’d teach him everything he needed to know.  I was—I just wanted him to be a fucking kid for a little while first.”

            _I didn’t want him to hear it every moment of every day from as far back as he could remember.  I remember how much Laura resented the constant reminders until she was well into her teenage years.  I remember how much I envied her because I had to hear it all the time.  I didn’t want to start things like that in this pack.  I didn’t want it to matter so much, I wanted to do just enough to prepare him.  That’s all._

_But now…_

“So if you adopt Collin and Addie, Collin will be your kid.”

            “Even if they don’t want to look at us as parents,” Derek says with a nod, “He’ll still be the oldest of the next generation for this pack.  He’ll be the one who becomes the Alpha one day, not Logan.”

            “So?” Scott says with a shrug, and Derek can’t help huffing out a little laughter.

            “It’s a big deal.  Power and—”

            “Dude, you really think either of us would pick our son to be the Alpha of a pack? I mean if it ended up that way, great, fine, whatever, but this pack isn’t about power.  It’s not—we’re not going to riot because Logan lost his spot to the throne or some shit,” Scott says.  “Right?” he asks, looking at Allison.

            “Right,” she replies.

            Derek knows it’s been hard for her to have a son who’s a werewolf at all.  She was hoping for human children.  As well as Allison may have acclimated into this pack, joining it and running it are two very different things; now there’s the safety net of retreating to the fringe, like Lydia did for the sake of school and Cora because she enjoys her solitude.  If Logan were to be Alpha, she’d be invested entirely whether she wanted to be or not.  Scott never even wanted the bite.  It took him a long time to come to terms with the power he has, much less seek more. 

            “I just—it’s his place; his birthright.  I don’t—that kind of thing shouldn’t switch lightly.”

            “Derek, Logan doesn’t even know yet.  Collin’s been in a family pack. He has the Alpha power now.  If you think he can step up, you’ve got our full support for that plan.  No matter what Logan’s birthright was,” Allison assures.

            “If it doesn’t work out with the kids,” Derek says, “or if I don’t think Collin can handle it, it’ll fall back to Logan.”

            “Then here’s hoping it works out,” Allison replies with a smile.

            _Yeah, here’s hoping._

*************************************************

 

            “Collin?” Isaac wonders as the boy stirs.  “Can you hear me?”

            “Uh-huh,” the child answers, eyes fluttering open. 

            Isaac’s glad to see the terror seems to have ebbed to caution.  He smiles reassuringly at the boy. 

            “How you feeling?”

            “Fine,” he answers shortly.

            “Thirsty?” Isaac wonders.

            “How’s Addie?” he asks, ignoring the question.

            “She’s fine.  Almost healed up,” Isaac assures.  “She doesn’t heal quite as fast as you.”

            “Oh. Right. She’s okay though? Really?”

            “She’ll be good as new in an hour or so.”

            “No, she won’t,” Collin mutters, and Isaac can see the grief in the boy’s eyes at the words. 

            “I’m sorry for what happened to you—to your family.  I can’t imagine—”

            “Actually, yeah, I’m thirsty. Could I get some water maybe?” he requests, cutting across the condolences. 

            “Sure,” Isaac says, taking the hint and letting the subject drop; he retrieves a bottle of water from the counter. 

            “Thanks,” Collin says when Isaac offers it.  “It—uh—appreciate all this and stuff.  Totally thought we were dead.”

            He’s doing a good job of keeping his tone even as he talks, only the slightest of trembles reveals the storm of emotions that must be raging in the boy. 

            “We don’t mind helping out,” Isaac assures.

            “What happened to Ruth? I remember her getting us into the car but then—it’s a little fuzzy after that.”

            “She’s not here.  She went after the hunters who did this to your family.  She’s calling in old favors.  It shouldn’t take them long.”

            “I want to go help!  I want to—”

            His eyes flare red as he jumps to his feet with a growl.  He’s still weak though, and he sways where he stands.  Isaac reaches out a hand to steady him, but Collin shoves the hand away, claws out and drawing blood.

            “You can’t stop me!” he thunders in the Alpha tone.

            “Collin?” a small voice says, drawing attention.

            The aggression is gone almost instantly as the child Alpha hurries to his sister’s side.

            “Yeah, Addie, I’m here.  You okay? Tell me what hurts.”

            “I want Mommy,” she whines.

            “I know, but—she’s—she can’t come, Addie.  Tell me what hurts.  Anything hurt?”

            “My head,” she says, pouting her lip out. 

            She must be nearly healed now, but it’s likely still aching.  Collin places one of his small hands on her forehead, leeching pain away. 

            “Collin, where is everybody?”

            Tears well in his eyes as he looks down at her.  Isaac hopes the boy doesn’t lie, however horrible the truth may be.   She may as well hear it now.  Her brother opens and closes his mouth several times, struggling for words.  He looks up at Isaac for help, and his eyes widen in alarm as they focus on the wounds along Isaac’s arm.

            “I hurt you! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

            “It’s okay.  You didn’t mean it, but you need to be more careful.”

            “I want Mommy!” Addie wails, refusing to be ignored.  “Collin where is everybody? I wanna go home!”

            “Addie, do you remember what happened?”

            “Daddy said they’d be right back! He _promised_!”

            “I know he did, but there were so many hunters.  He—they—it’s just us now, Addie.”

            “No!” she shouts angrily. “No! I want to go _home_!”

            “We can’t.  Nobody’s there. The hunters–we can’t go back home.”

            Collin says the words with a forced calm, but tears are streaming down his face and he’s quaking.  Isaac approaches slowly.

            “I know it’s scary, Addie, but you’re safe with us.  My name’s Isaac.  Me and my pack want to help you guys.  It’ll be okay.”

            “I want to go home!” she cries again, dissolving into sobs. 

Collin sits on the edge of her cot, and she clambers into his lap, burying her head in his shoulder.   Collin holds onto her tightly, trying to soothe her to no avail.

            “She’ll be okay,” Isaac assures Collin.  “It’s just a lot to take in, for both of you.”

            “I know. We’ll be fine,” Collin agrees, voice breaking again.

            Isaac nods.  “Yeah, you will be, and we want to help you.”

 

 

*******************************************

 

            When Derek walks back in, Addie seems to have cried herself back to sleep.  Collin looks weary as well, but no doubt he’s too worked up to rest now his wounds are healed. 

            “Sweet kid,” Derek comments with a nod to Addie as he walks in.

            “Yeah,” Collin replies with a shrug.  “She’s my sister.”

            Derek suppresses a grin at the words.  He’d bet there’s plenty of spats and days of annoying the shit out of each other between the two of them.  She’s his pain in the ass little sister, but she’s all he’s got left. 

            “I have an offer for you,” Derek says, “if you want to hear it.”

            “About Addie?” he wonders, eyes narrowing.

            “About both of you.”

            “Okay.  I want to hear it.”

            “We’ve told you that you’re both welcome to stay as long as you like,” Derek says.  “I’ve talked to my pack, and if you’d like to stay permanently, that’s an option as well now.”

            “Join your pack?”

            “Yes, you’ll be as equal as any of the others,” Derek adds.  “We’re a family.  It’s not about power and rank here.”

            “So it’d be like—like we’d always been in your pack?”

            “Yes.”

            Collin’s eyes widen in surprise and then narrow almost immediately in suspicion.

            “What the catch?”

            “Only one,” Derek says, and Collin huffs like he knew it was too good an offer.  “You know as well as I do the pack can’t have two Alphas.”

            “Oh,” Collin says.  “I’d—I’d have to give it up.”

            “For now.”

            “Just for now?”

            “You’d be the oldest child in this pack,” Derek says.   “The job of leading it would fall to you one day.  You’re old blood, Collin, same as me.  You know a lot of the responsibilities that come with being an Alpha-elect.”

            “Mom was going to be Alpha,” he replies, “and then Trent.  Not me.  I didn’t get—”

            “But you still know how important a role the Alpha plays,” Derek replies.  “It’s not a small responsibility.”

            “So what? You’re going to adopt me? Us? Train us up?”

            “If you’d rather us have social services find you a foster home, you can choose that option.  It would make your Alpha-elect spot a little easier to circumvent if you wanted to.  Otherwise, yes, we’d like you and Addie to come live with us at the pack house.”

            “Who’s ‘us’?”

            “Me and Stiles and Isaac—we’re—a bit of an unconventional family.  It’s okay if you’d rather—”

            “Not social services,” Collins says.  “Addie’s not so good with control yet, and humans would—we couldn’t live with humans.”

            “Okay.”

            “What if—what if it doesn’t work?”

            “Staying with our pack?”

            He nods.  “What happens if we try to leave?”

            “We hope you stay,” Derek says, “but if you decided to leave, no one would stop you.”

            “So we could like—just—see how it goes maybe? _If_ I decided to give up the Alpha stuff?”

            “We just want to help,” Derek reminds.  “So yes, you can try it out; if it doesn’t work, we’ll try to help you find someplace that does.”

            “Really? Just like that?”

            “Yes.”

            “Why do you just want to help?”

            Derek hesitates, trying to figure out the right words.  In the end, the simple truth seems best.

            “When I was younger, I lost my family too,” he says.

            “I remember them saying the Hales died in a fire,” Collin says.  “You parents and everybody died too?  Sorry—I mean—”

            “The whole pack got wiped out,” Derek confirms.  “It was just me and my sister, and we didn’t have anywhere to go either.  I get how you feel right now.  I want to help.”

            “You didn’t join another pack.”

            “No.”

            “Why not?”

            “We tried.”

            “Nobody let you in?”

            “Not on terms we wanted.”

            “Granddad says it’s too risky to have wolves you didn’t turn yourself.  Outsiders—”

            “I know what your Grandfather’s practices were,” Derek interrupts.  “I don’t agree.  My pack isn’t like that.  We want to take in anyone who needs a place as long as they want to be part of a _family_.  I don’t care about the old bloodlines anymore.”

            “You knew my Granddad?”

            “A bit.”

            “He’d kill me for letting the Grayson pack die,” Collin says.  “Even if it’s just me and Addie we could—we could—maybe I can—”  his words die out, Derek assumes because he doesn’t have any idea how to be an Alpha at ten years old, at least not one that could build the kind of pack he grew up in.

            “You’re not letting it die,” Derek replies.  “You’re merging packs.  There’s a difference.”

            “Yeah, but—it’s—we were going to merge with the Andersons.  That’s who he—do you know the Andersons? Could you help us get there?”

            “The decision is yours, Collin.  If you want to go to the Andersons, we’ll help you get some transportation once you’re well enough to travel.”

            “Can I—do I have to decide now?”

            “No, you can take as much time as you need.  At least sleep on it,” Derek suggests.  “It’s a big decision to make.  I understand.”

            _But I know the Andersons.  They won’t honor whatever arrangement your grandfather may have had to merge the packs, not now.  They’ll see you for what you are: an easy target.  If Keith Anderson doesn’t kill you outright, you’ll never rise in the pack at all.  Gloria wouldn’t have you thinking for one moment you were any bit as good as her precious children._

Derek wants to tell Collin the Anderson Pack is a bunch of self-righteous brutes, but he bites his tongue for now, afraid his insistence might skew Collin’s opinion the wrong way.  The kid’s got no reason to trust Derek’s word or opinion, not really.  Best to seem as amiable as possible. 

            _Just pick us.  Give us a shot.   I’ve tried this road, kid.  I know where it goes, and it fucking sucks.  Don’t do it to yourself.  Don’t drag your sister with you.  Trust me; we’re a damn sight better than your other options._

Derek excuses himself back out to the front of the office.  Isaac and Stiles opt to stay with the kids, but Derek needs some air to clear his head.  He goes out walking, and even though he wasn’t really paying attention to where he was headed, he finds himself outside Cora’s apartment building half an hour later.  She buzzes him up, and doesn’t seem surprised in the least to see him.

            “Jeez, Derek, you look like someone shot your puppy,” she informs.  “What gives? The kids are fine, aren’t they?”

            “Were you fine when our whole pack got taken out? Of course they’re not fine.”

            “They’re healing,” she corrects, “and their prospects for the immediate future are a hell of a lot better than mine, yours, or Laura’s.”

            “He thinks the Anderson pack would still honor some of the agreements his Grandfather made.  What the fuck am I supposed to do if they want to go there? I said we’d help them with whatever they—”

            “If they’re dumb enough to try and got the Anderson’s, I’ll volunteer to drive them,” Cora replies.  “And the whole fucking drive there I’ll let them know exactly how much that pack sucks if you’re at the bottom of the totem pole.”

            “You talk like you know.”

            “I tried the Andersons a while,” she replies.  “Not only did they fail to mention that I _wasn’t_ the only Hale alive they—”

            “Those fucking bastards! I will—”

            “Chill, Derek! More immediate problems, big bro.  Who gives a shit about those assholes.  You’ve got your own pack to manage.”

            “They—what did they do, Cora? Why didn’t you tell me they—”

            “Relax, it wasn’t anything _that_ bad, okay? Better than a lot of places, but nothing close to our pack.  They put a roof over my head and kept me from being Omega.  Could’ve been a lot worse.”       

            “I want to know that happened.”

            “Well, tough, ‘cause I don’t want to talk about it.  It doesn’t matter. It’s done and over, and definitely _not_ worth starting some stupid feud or some shit.  I’m just saying if the munchkins get it in their heads they can find somewhere better I can sure as hell point out the flaw in their logic.  You can too I bet; tell me I’m wrong.”

            “You’re not wrong,” Derek admits.  “They’re just kids though.”

            “And you can’t help seeing yourself in them? How hopeful you were that you could find something and keep going even though your world had just fallen apart?”

            Derek nods, not trusting his voice.  He can’t meet Cora’s eyes because he doesn’t want to see his own pain mirrored there.  She sighs before grabbing his hand.      

            “You are such a big softie,” she teases with a little shove.  “Big tough alpha my ass.”

            “Shut up,” he mutters with a small smile.

            “They’ll have it better than we did,” she swears.  “We’re going to make sure of it.  Don’t worry before you have to.  Maybe the kid’s got enough sense to accept a good thing when it’s offered.   Maybe this is an argument you won’t even have to have.”

            “Maybe,” Derek concedes.

            _I fucking hope so._

“So they going to stay with you three?” she wonders.

            “If they want to.  We offered to let social services find them a place if they’d rather.  I think they’d like the house though.  I mean yeah we’re kind of weird and stuff but—”

            “Everybody’s family is a little weird.   You three will make an awesome home for those kids.  Why d’you think Logan pitches a fit every time he has to go home?”

            “Because Stiles sneaks him candy,” Derek replies.

            “Well, that doesn’t hurt,” Cora concedes with a laugh.  “Seriously, though, I bet they love life at the pack house.  I can even move back and help out if you think you need it.”

            “You in the pack house? You’d go stir crazy,” Derek replies.  “There is no such thing as privacy in that house, especially not once we add kids to the mix.”

            She shrugs.  “I could deal, ‘til they got settled at least.  I got your back, you big doof.  Don’t you know that?”

            “Yeah.”

            _And you’re right. We’ll make sure they don’t have to go through the same shit we did.  It’ll work out.  It’ll be good._

_Please let it be good._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all my betas, but especially, especially to the wonderful SlitheringAngel who helped me flesh out not only this chapter but others to come! :D


	3. Chapter 2

            “Thought you might be hungry,” Stiles says as he, Derek, and Isaac walk in bearing breakfast. 

“If I say we’re going to give this pack a chance, can we just go?” Collin replies flatly.  “I’m tired of this stupid vet’s office.”

            “Sure, we can go.  You want to eat first?” Isaac asks.

            “Not hungry.”

            “I am,” Addie sniffles. 

            “You like pancakes and bacon?” Stiles wonders.

            “Uh huh.”

            Collin heaves a sigh.  “Eat fast, okay?”

            “We’re goin’ home with you?” Addie asks Isaac as he hands her a plate.

            “Yeah, and you get your own room and everything.  Our house is gonna be your house, too.”

            “ _I_ wanna go home!” Addie asserts with a pout.  “I don’t want a new house.”

            She’s still in her brother’s lap, and Stiles doubts she’ll go anywhere anytime soon.  His heart breaks for her, knowing she can’t understand all that’s happened.  Even worse is the pain that flickers across Collin’s face as he gives the patient reply Stiles has heard him give a dozen times since last night.

            “Home isn’t there anymore, Addie.  We can’t go home.”

            “Can too,” she mutters, crossing her arms with a huff.  “You’re just being mean.”

            “They’re dead!” Collin shouts then, rising to his feet so quickly she tumbles to the floor.  “They’re dead! They’re not there! Home is _gone_! It’s just us now, just you and me and I don’t know what to do so we have to stay here! You think I don’t want to go home? Of course I want to go home but everyone is dead and gone and we’re _alone_!”

            Stiles wondered how long it would take Collin’s tranquil, mature mask to start cracking.  He can’t blame the kid for the outburst, but he wishes it hadn’t left his sister wailing on the floor.  Isaac rushes in to tend to her while Stiles turns his attention to Collin.

            “It’s just hard for her to understand; she—”

            “She’s four,” Collin spits.  “I get it. Why do you think I’m not going to haul her around looking for another pack? I’m not an idiot.”

            “No,” Stiles agrees, “but you’re not alone, either.   You’ve got Addie.  You’ve got us. It’s—”

            “Would you shut up?!” Collin retorts, last two words thundering out in the Alpha tone as he glowers at Stiles.

            “Collin, don’t do that,” Derek orders as the plates in Stiles’ hands clatter to the floor.

            _Deep breaths. I’m okay. Don’t lose yourself, Stiles. Come on.  You’re okay. It’s all fine._

            “Why not? I’m an Alpha! I can do what I want to!”

            “Don’t speak to him like that!” Stiles orders, stepping forward between Derek and Collin with a growl.  “You should—”

            “Stiles, go,” Derek orders, pushing him toward the door.  “Wait out front.”

            “Derek, he—”

            “Stop talking. Wait out front.”

            Stiles both hates and loves Derek for giving the instructions in the Alpha tone.  His feet move before he even makes the conscious decision to go.   He slides down the door as he closes it behind him, breathing deeply and hoping Damon and Wretch stay buried.

            _Not now, Stiles. You can’t lose yourself now, not on the first day with the kids.  I’m okay. It’s okay.  Hold on. It’s okay._

************************************************************

 

            “Collin, there is no reason for this; you need to calm down,” Derek says firmly. 

            “You can’t tell me what to do! You’re not my Alpha! _I_ am an Alpha!”

            He glowers at Derek, fangs descending for a moment, and Derek fights the urge to shift in turn.  The kid’s whole world has been shattered.  Nothing anyone is going to say will _really_ make that reality any better or easier, not right now.   Derek will settle for calming Collin down before he does any real damage or sends Stiles into a regression.         

            _If he hasn’t regressed already._

            “Yes, you are an Alpha, and being an Alpha is about more than yelling at people and throwing temper tantrums.  You have every right to be upset, but you do not get to take it out on everyone around you.  We’re trying to help.”

            “I don’t need your help! I can take care of us just fine! I can take Addie, and we’ll—”

            “I don’t wanna go anywhere with you! You’re bein’ mean!” Addie asserts again, drawing her brother’s attention.

            “And you’re—” his words cut off as he continues to look at her, and his fangs retract as the anger recedes. 

            Derek waits with bated breath as Collin’s gaze begins to soften.

            _Think about what you’re doing.  Think about what’s best for your sister, what’s best for you.  Don’t lose yourself in the Alpha power._

            “Maybe we’re not all blood, but we’re still family.  You and Addie too now if you’ll really give us a shot.  You’re not alone,” Isaac says.  “All you’ve got to do is pick family over power, and you’re in.”

            He pulls his eyes from his sister to look at Isaac and then back to Derek. 

            “What if I give it up and then we decide to leave? I wouldn’t be strong anymore.”

            “If you decided to leave, you’d have to give it up to join any other pack anyway.  If you left to be on your own as an Alpha, we both know how many werewolves would target you to take you down and claim the power themselves, and that leaves your sister totally alone.  We’re not a bad option. This isn’t a trick.  We want to help.”

            The silence in the room grows long, and Derek’s getting more terrified by the second that Collin’s not going to back down. 

_I should’ve told Cora to be here.  I should’ve worked out a better argument. What do I say to him? How do I make him understand? Shit, I’m already fucking this up completely._

“Okay,” Collin says quietly. 

He means the words even if he doesn’t realize how much he means them.   The moment they leave his lips red flares in his eyes only to fade into a warm gold instead.  Derek smiles in relief, glad they’re not going to spend the day making the kids understand how hard it might be to find a good pack on their own.

           

*************************************************************

 

            Damon doesn’t entirely understand the conversation going on behind the closed door at his back.  There are kids, though—a child Alpha?—and Derek wants them to stay here. 

            _Derek wants to keep them? They’re going to adopt kids? Where did they even come from? What happened? How long have I been gone?_

He rises when he hears footsteps approach the door, taking a few steps back.  Derek enters, shutting the door behind him. 

            “Damon,” he informs the Alpha quietly.  “Sorry.”

            “Oh, thank God,” Derek says, moving to hug him, and Damon somehow manages to stand his ground but can’t quite manage to relax into the embrace.  “Shit, sorry,” Derek says, pulling away. “Didn’t mean to startle you.  I was just really fucking scared you two got Alpha-ed back to Wretch.”

            “No, it’s me,” he says, unable to conceal a smile at the news Derek’s glad to see him.  “Is everything okay, Derek?”

            “Little stressful, but good stressful, I hope.  Did you hear any of that?”

            “The boy was an Alpha? But he’s going to join our pack now?”

            Derek nods affirmation.  “His name is Collin.  He and his sister lost their family, so they came here.”

            _Good, that’s good.  They came to a good pack.  Derek will be good to them._

“They’re going to come home with us, but if that’s too much for you, you don’t have to help with it.”

            “I want to help, but—never mind, Derek. I’m sorry.”

            “But what?”

            “I thought—Stiles doesn’t want children.  Is that why I’m here? He doesn’t want the kids?”

            _Are you picking children over Stiles? Did you tell him to go? You wouldn’t.  You love Stiles, don’t you?_

“No, that’s not why.”

            _Of course it’s not.  I can never figure out why I come when I do.  Why am I still trying?_

“He was threatening me.  I think you came because you thought I needed protection.”

            “Oh.”

            A little pride swells in his chest to know he can come when he needs to protect Derek.  It seems he didn’t really need to this time, but if Derek ever _did_ need him, Damon could maybe get here.  It’s a nice, comforting thought and one of the first times he’s felt like the one controlling when he comes and goes.

            “But I don’t need protecting from them, you understand that? They’re gonna be treated like pack.”

            “Yes, Derek, I won’t hurt them.”

            “Thanks.”

            “Of course, Derek.  I don’t mind.  I can help with them, like with Logan.  I know what to do, I think.”

            “You’ll be great with them, Damon,” Derek says confidently.  “I’m not worried a bit.”

            “Really?”

            “Yeah, really.  I do have a favor to ask, though.”

            “Anything, Derek.”

            “We can’t babysit Logan while we’re getting Collin and Addie settled in, and Scott could use some help with him.  Allison’s sick.”

            “Sick?”

            “Just the flu, nothing too serious.  She’s almost better, just tired.  Melanie’s with Melissa, but if you could keep Logan occupied while Scott looks after Allison and gets some rest, it would really help.”

            “I can babysit.  I don’t mind.”

            “Excellent.  I’ll drop you at Scott’s and then come back here to get the kids.  Ready to go now?”

            “Sure, Derek.”

 

****************************************************************

 

            “What was that?” Collin asks with a nod to the closed door as the sounds of Derek and Damon leaving reach to the back.

            “What was what?” Isaac asks, feigning ignorance in an effort to buy time to figure out what the hell to say.

            “Something was wrong with him; he sounded different. What happened?”   

            “It’s complicated.”

            “Complicated how?”

            “It’s a long story.”

            “We’ve got until Derek comes back.  If you want us to live with him, I want to know what just happened,” Collin insists stubbornly.

            “Stiles is—uh—he’s sick,” Isaac says finally, feeling the word to be grossly inadequate but still mostly true.

            _How do I explain all of this to you? Can you two understand it?_

“Werewolves don’t get sick,” Collin replies.  “Except like the superbugs and stuff and that kind of sick you don’t get out of bed.  He didn’t look sick.”

            “It’s not that kind of sick.  It’s—more like a wound that won’t heal completely.”

            “What kind of wound?”

            “He got hurt a long time ago, when he was in a pack with some really, _really_ bad Alphas.  They did awful things to hurt him and now his memories get all jumbled up sometimes.  He gets confused about who he is.”

            “He forgets who he is?”

            “Yeah.  Sometimes he doesn’t know his name at all.  Sometimes he thinks he’s a person named Damon.  Mostly he’s just Stiles though.”

            “Is he dangerous?”

            “No.”

            _Well, usually not too bad.  He’s manageably dangerous._

            “He was ready to fight me.”

            “You were ready to fight Derek,” Isaac reminds.  “It’s part of Stiles’ changing; he gets very loyal to his Alpha.  If you’re ever around him when he changes, you need to be sure you don’t threaten Derek at all, not ever.  We should be there though, me or Derek or one of the others.  He’s been sick for a while, we know how to help when he gets confused.  You guys can learn too.”

            “What makes him change?”

            “Sometimes he has seizures.  Sometimes it’s a word or a situation.   Sometimes it just happens.  Whenever it does, though, you just get me or Derek or any of the others, like I said.  It’s nothing to be afraid of, and Stiles can’t help it.  It’s okay if it confuses you though, you can always ask questions about it, and we’ll try to explain.”

            Collin nods, absorbing the words.  Addie just looks baffled.

            “Addie, d’you understand any of what I said?”

            “Stiles get confused sometimes and thinks he’s named Damon because bad Alphas hurt him,” Collin says.  “Say it back, Addie,” he instructs, and she parrots the phrase, though Isaac’s not so sure she really gets it.  “Good.  So when he gets confused, you tell Isaac or Derek or me, got it?”

            She nods, still looking a little puzzled, and turns her attention back to the plate of pancakes.

            _It’s not the best explanation in the world, but it’ll do for now._  

 

************************************************************************

 

            Derek has to admire Isaac’s struggle to help keep up a little conversation as they ride home.  It seems impossible to have normal conversation as though their worlds haven’t just been upended, but the silence seems worse.  The forced conversation with Collin’s short answers makes the ride home seem an eternity.

            _Not exactly the start I was hoping for, but hey, they don’t hate us yet and Stiles didn’t go Wretch on us.  Could be worse._

“So we’ll show you the empty rooms, and you can decide which you like best,” Isaac says as they get out of the car and head up to the house.  “There’s just some simple stuff in there now, but we can go shopping so you can make the rooms your own if you want—new bedspread and all that stuff.”

            “We could just share a room,” Collin says. 

            “But you _snore_ ,” Addie whines.  

            “I do not!”

            “Do I have to share with Collin? I don’t wanna.”

            “How about you pick out separate rooms for now, and then if Addie has trouble sleeping you can sleep in her room until she’s used to the house?” Isaac suggests, guessing Collin’s suggestion is more about fear of losing Addie somehow than a real desire to share a room with her permanently.

            “Sure.”

            The tour of the house isn’t terribly long.   They end by going upstairs to take a look at the rooms that no one’s claimed.   While Collin seems to show only begrudging interest, Addie lights up at the room on the corner that’s painted in a pastel yellow.  It’s the window that draws her attention.

            “Look, Collin, a princess seat!” she says as she rushes across room to climb up on the cushioned nook in the window.  “Like Rapunzel!”

            “She’s got this Rapunzel book,” Collin mutters.  “And there’s a little seat thing like that she sits on to look out her window.”

            “I want this room,” Addie decides.  “Can I make it a princess room?”

            “Sure can,” Isaac replies.  “You can do whatever you want with it.”

            _Thank God we’ve got Lydia and Allison in this pack.  I don’t know shit about putting together a princess room.  There are like packages and things though, aren’t there? I could just go in Toys R Us and tell some saleswoman and she can give us the set or something.  We’ll figure it out.  It’ll be fine._

“I want the blue room then,” Collin says, picking the one next door that’s connected by a bathroom with the one Addie just chose. 

            “Great.  We’ll go to town later today.  You guys can get the basics, some clothes and things, stuff for your room, all that.”

            “Awesome,” Collin says with a forced smile, that only fuels the uncertainty growing in Derek.

            _What if they don’t like it here after all? What if they don’t want to stay?_

He hopes they just need some time to adjust.  Addie seems to be warming up to it all. Maybe Collin won’t be far behind. 

************************************************************

 

            “Dude, that smells awesome,” Scott compliments as he walks in the kitchen.  “Vegetable beef?”

            “It’s her favorite, isn’t it?” Damon answers.  “You had all the ingredients, and Logan’s watching cartoons.  I thought I’d start it now and let it simmer.”

            Damon was here when the humans in the pack got the stomach flu months ago.  He kept them all stocked with plenty of soup until they got better and memorized their favorites in case he needed to provide it again. 

            “Thank you so much for coming.  You’re the best.”

            “I don’t mind.”

            “Then what’s that look on your face?” Scott wonders.

            “There’s no look,” Damon protests.

            “Come on. You like looking out for Logan.  You like cooking.   This is usually when you’re humming your way around the kitchen with a smile.  You’re not smiling; you’re worrying about something.”

            Damon sighs, only a little annoyed that Scott can read his mood.  He bites his lip a minute before deciding to just be honest.  Scott’s good at talking, and he’s always honest when he answers.

            “Will Stiles be disappointed to have the kids? Was he here enough to know Derek’s decision?”

            “Derek talked to the whole pack—except you, ‘cause he couldn’t—Stiles was there.  He agreed the kids should come.  He won’t mind.”

            “So he doesn’t mind having kids, he just didn’t want to have them unless they had to?”

            “Something like that.”

            “So he’ll be glad, when he gets back?”

            “Yeah, he’ll be glad.”

            Damon frowns.  “He should be here while they move them in the house, not me,” he mutters quietly.  “Has he figured out how to come back when he wants to yet?”

            “Damon, I told you Stiles doesn’t want to figure it out.”

            “He’s smart though; he _could_ figure it out.  Maybe he should.  Derek and Isaac and Stiles are starting a family today.  Stiles should be here for that.  Not me.”

            “You could be there if you want.  Do you want to go home? I can manage if—”

            “No, I want to help.  I’ve got the soup to finish,” Damon replies.

            _Derek sent me here.  If he wanted me to be there with the new kids, he would’ve asked Jackson or my dad or someone to help, but he sent me.  I’m out of the way here; he doesn’t need anything else to worry about right now._

“You sure?”

            “I’m sure.  I didn’t mean I want to go home. I just meant—”

            He chokes of his words as he remembers who he’s talking to.  Scott and Damon may be friends, but Scott and Stiles are _best_ friends.  He can’t tell Scott how irresponsible it is for Stiles to neglect learning to control when he comes and goes.  He can’t accuse Stiles of being a bad husband or beta for letting Damon and Wretch take moments away like this. 

            _I try so hard to control it.  Why don’t you, Stiles? Don’t you want to be here all the time? I do.  They’re so good.  Why don’t you stay with them?_

 

************************************************************************

 

            The trip to town is quick and uneventful, much to Derek’s relief.  They buy a few outfits for the kids and a few things for their rooms.  Derek wouldn’t mind going all out, but he doesn’t want to push too hard with Collin still slightly resisting the full commitment of joining the pack.  Addie comes in and immediately goes to put in her Tangled Blu-ray.  It seems she’s a fan of all things Rapunzel.  She’s contentedly watching with Isaac, and Collin disappears quietly up to his room.  Derek gives him a little time to himself before following upstairs. 

            “Hey, Collin?” Derek says as he wraps his knuckles on the boy’s bedroom door. 

            “Come in,” Collin replies.

            He’s sprawled out on his bed, red-rimmed eyes betraying the tears he’s shed.   He doesn’t look up as Derek walks in.

            “I’m—uh—heading out for a run before dinner.  Thought I’d see if you wanted to come?”

            “Why?”

            “It just—runs help me clear my head sometimes,” Derek says, trying to smother back the feeling of idiocy emerging at having to explain a coping option to a ten-year-old.  “When I’m angry or worried or upset or something.  I thought you might want to give it a shot?”

            “I’m fine.”

            “Addie’ll be safe here.  We won’t go far I swear, not even out of earshot if you don’t want to.”

            The fact that Collin doesn’t give another immediate refusal seems a good sign.  He’s quiet a moment or two more before he sits up slowly.  

            “Yeah, just a short run maybe,” he says, and Derek smiles.

            “I’m going to change,” Derek says.  “Meet you at the back door in five minutes?”

            “Uh huh.”

            Collin doesn’t say anything when he meets Derek downstairs. Derek doesn’t really know he should say either.  Communication isn’t the part of running that helps him; he’s really not sure what is.  He just knows that it relaxes something in his soul, let’s the worry ebb away, and while it may rush back in the moment he walks back in the house, it seems less overwhelming somehow.  Sometimes he sees all the problems differently after a run, as though he couldn’t work out a way to deal until he let it go and took a step back for a minute. 

Collin seems content enough with the companionable silence though, pushing the pace even faster than Derek planned, nearly sprinting within just a few minutes.  He doesn’t slacken the entire time they run, and Derek’s starting to worry the kid’s overexerting himself when Collin veers back toward the house.  Derek plops down next to him on the back stairs, trying to figure out what to say, knowing that words aren’t enough for the pain Collin’s enduring right now.

“Talking’s—it’s not really my thing,” Derek admits finally, “but it helps sometimes, and sometimes the quiet helps.  Mostly it just takes time for it all to seem better.”

“You still miss them?” Collin wonders.  “Your family?”

“Every day,” Derek replies honestly, “but I’ve got my sister, like you.  I’ve got my pack.  Life keeps moving; it does get better, I promise.  Like any other injury.  It’s worst when it’s fresh, but it gets better until it’s just kind of an ache I guess.”

Collin nods, brushing at tears again. 

“You’re gonna be okay, Collin.  Both of you.  You’ll see.  You’re stronger than you think you are.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“Not yet, not really,” Derek assents. “But I know enough.  I know you gave up the power to keep your sister someplace safe; you watch out for her even though you’re hurting, too.  That’s a damn good sign of maturity and strength right there.”

 _Those are the kinds of things you want to see in an Alpha, too,_ Derek adds mentally. 

“I know it all sucks right now, but give us a chance, okay? We’re not so bad.”

“No,” Collin agrees with a small smile.  “Besides, we were stuck here the minute Isaac told Addie she could get that horrible, fluffy, lacey purple bedspread she picked out.”

“The princess dress and tiara probably didn’t help either.”

“Thanks, Derek.”

“The princess stuff is all Isaac and the woman at the store’s doing; I just—”

“No, I mean for all of it, like for taking us in and everything.”

“We’re happy to have you.  Thank _you_ for giving us a chance,” Derek replies.  “Come on; let’s go get cleaned up before dinner.”

 

*****************************************************************

 

            “I was thinking I might just grab pizza for dinner?” Isaac says.  “I thought we could maybe invite everyone over to meet the kids, if that’s okay with them.  Good distraction and all that.”

            “Yeah, sounds good.”

            “And—uh—Damon should come, too, right?”

            It’s the question that’s been on Isaac’s mind for hours now.  As much as he hates for the kids to get to know Damon when they’ve barely met Stiles, it isn’t Damon’s fault he’s the one here right now. 

            “Did you get a chance to explain anything to them about Damon and Stiles?”

            “I tried, but I don’t know how much they understood really.  They won’t really start to get it until he switches once they know him.  Logan gets it though—well, he understands enough anyway, so they’ll understand more or less.  It should be fine, right?”

            “Right,” Derek agrees, though there’s concern in his eyes still.  “I just hope it doesn’t freak them out. It’s a lot on top of everything else.  Maybe—no, you’re right.  It’s not Damon’s fault he’s the one who’s here.”

            _It’s Stiles choice not to even attempt reconciling.  That means he misses things.  I wish this wasn’t one of them, but life rarely works the way we want it to.  They’re going to meet Damon sometime.  Might as well be now._

“I’ll call and invite Scott.  If Allison’s up to coming he can bring Damon and Logan.  If not I’ll pick him up when I run for pizza.”

 

*************************************************

 

            Derek’s surprised how well everything goes with the house full of pack.  He catches looks of melancholy on the kids’ faces more than once, but on the whole they warm up to the pack faster than expected.  Addie’s enamored with Melanie, and Derek wonders if she’s never been around a baby before; it’s entirely possible she was the youngest in her pack.  She makes faces and coos to get laughs out of Melanie, and that makes Addie giggle in turn.  Collin’s busying himself figuring out the “build your own airplane” kit Jackson brought him.  Jackson may not be the best at the world at playing pretend or forcing himself to lose at tag, but he does come through with some awesome gifts; Derek will give him that.

            “Okay, buddy, I think Pop’s done for the night,” the sheriff says as he deposits Logan on the floor after his third piggyback ride.

            Logan pouts for all of five seconds before his eyes light up and he hurries across the den insisting,   “Pig’back, Damon! Pig’back!”

            Damon smiles, scooping Logan up as soon as he’s within reach.

            “Hey, what’d we talk about, Logan?” Scott chastises.  “Piggyback, _please_.”

            “Pig’back pwease,” Logan repeats dutifully. 

            “Good.”

            “Go, Damon, go!”

            “Hold on very tight, Logan,” Damon instructs as he starts off on a loop toward the kitchen. 

            The moment catches Addie’s attention.  She watches as they make several passes, finally saying, “Me next, Damon? I wanna go next.”

            Damon pauses before answering, looking to Derek.  Derek nods permission, and Damon smiles.

            “Okay, Addie,” he agrees.  “You next.”

 

*****************************************************************

 

            The evening is perfect, though Damon spends half the night petrified he’ll be the one to ruin it and cause the children to think the pack is less than wonderful.  It seems Addie is easily won, though, with piggyback rides and freeze tag.  Collin doesn’t speak to Damon much, focused instead on the airplane he completes with Jackson and Derek’s assistance.   He doesn’t seem bothered by Damon, though, and that’s the important part.  As good as it’s all going, he still can’t shake the thought that Stiles is the one who really belongs in this moment.  It’s not Damon’s fault he’s the one here.  He knows it’s all right.  He can be good, but Stiles could be better.  He could be more help than Damon with the kids.

            _How do I get Stiles to come back?_

            “Let me,” Derek requests as he comes in the kitchen where Stiles is unloading the dishwasher. “You did your time running toddlers around the house all night.”

            “I didn’t mind.”

            “You were excellent with them,” Derek praises. 

            “Thank you.”

            _Maybe it’s not so bad that I’m the one here.  Maybe I’m better for—_

_No. No. I’m not better.  Stiles is better. Stiles belongs here, not me.  This is for Stiles.  Stiles should have the family._

“Damon?”

            “I didn’t mean it!” he blurts before he can stop the words.

            “Didn’t mean what?”

            _I wasn’t talking out loud.  I’m such an idiot.  What the hell is wrong with me?_

“I—I just—I was thinking, but it—I didn’t mean it.  I’m—I don’t want to be selfish.”

            “You’re the least selfish person I know, Damon,” Derek replies.

            _That’s because you don’t know what’s in my head.  I’m quiet so you don’t know how bad I am.  You can’t hear the prideful, selfish thoughts that swirl around.  If you could hear it, you’d be so disappointed.  If you heard what I think about Stiles sometimes…_

Damon shudders involuntarily at the prospect.  He’s seen how protective Derek can be over Isaac.  He’s sure his love for Stiles is no different.  He’d send Damon away for sure if he ever found out the condemnations tucked in the corners of Damon’s greedy, traitorous mind.

            _Stiles is the chosen of the Alpha.  It’s not my place to question what he does or why the Alpha prefers him.  It’s certainly not my place to presume I could ever be better for the pack than he is.  I’m the best placeholder while Stiles is away, better than having Wretch here.  I shouldn’t let my pride run away with me.  A night of piggyback rides doesn’t mean I deserve a family._

_Stiles gets the family.  I get a pack._

_It’s enough.  It’s more than I ever had hoped to have.  I should be grateful._

“Are you okay?” Derek asks, drawing Damon from his thoughts. 

            “Yes, Derek.”

            Derek doesn’t believe him; the lines of worry remain in his forehead. 

            _Useless, burdensome little shit, worrying your Alpha like this.  What the hell is wrong with you? Fucking up a good day by making him fret over your proud, egotistical—_

“No,” Damon whines quietly, bringing his hands up to cover his ears though he knows it won’t quit the voice. 

            Damon knows the voice belongs to Thomas, though he doesn’t have a memory of his face to accompany the voice.  He’s the hardest voice to quiet once he’s in Damon’s mind, the hardest to hide from the others.

            _He’d send you away if it didn’t mean losing Stiles, too.  You know that, don’t you? You can’t possibly think you’d be allowed to stay otherwise.  A weak, cowering, burden like you? What Alpha could want you?  And instead of being grateful that your attachment to Stiles makes him keep you, you dare to think you could replace him? That you could be better for the pack than the beta the Alpha chose for himself.  You’re a presumptuous—”_

“Don’t listen, Damon,” Derek pleads, hands resting gently over Damon’s.  “It’s not true.”

            “It is; it is, Derek.  I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

            “Shhh, shhh,” Derek interrupts, and Damon stifles his whimpers as he remembers the children have only just gone to sleep.

            _I’ll wake them.  I’ll frighten them.  I need to be quiet._

But it’s so hard with Thomas screaming in his ears now, reiterating Damon’s shortcomings. He brings his hands down from his ears to his mouth to smother the sobs threatening to burst out. 

  “It’s okay, Damon,” Derek swears, pulling him into an embrace. “You’re a good beta, a good part of this pack.  Don’t let any of them tell you otherwise.  We love you.”

_Listen how he has to lie for you.  Spinning lies so he can comfort his pathetic beta.  No alpha deserves a beta so worthless.  Choke on your sobs, you miserable failure.  Maybe you can choke yourself out and bring back the beta he really loves._

With Thomas’ taunts comes an idea.  He can’t really get out of the way; he hasn’t figured out how yet.  He can increase the chances though.  Stiles seems to come back most frequently when Damon goes to sleep.  There’s no way he’ll get to sleep with Thomas’ voice ringing in his ears, but there’s another option.

“Sed—sed—a—tive.”

_Listen to how you beg, crying all over your Alpha when you know you don’t deserve the comfort.  Disgusting display, beta.  You’re an embarrassment; you know that, don’t you?_

“Okay,” Derek agrees.  “I’m gonna carry you upstairs to your room.  Don’t be afraid.”

            He wants to at least try to apologize for the burden he’s being, but Damon’s not sure he could keep quiet enough.

            _I’m sorry, Derek, so sorry.  I didn’t mean to ruin it. I didn’t mean to let my pride get away from me.  And Thomas is just so loud.  I can’t ignore him. I try though.  I promise I try.  I’m sorry I’m not better._

_I’m sorry I’m not Stiles._

The pinch of the needle is a wonderfully welcome sting.  Damon relishes the forced calm that blankets him.  Derek holds him until he drifts asleep with an apology still on his lips.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much love to my betas. Codarra, SlitheringAngel, y'all're AWESOME :D 
> 
> Thanks for reading, folks :)


	4. Chapter 3

            Stiles wakes to the smell of pancakes, drowsy enough to know Damon must have needed a sedative. 

            _Why would they let him come around the kids if—_

Before Stiles can even complete the wondering it’s there, the knowledge that Damon was calm and good with the children.   He gave piggyback rides.  He helped clean up after supper.   Then he asked for the sedative because he was upset.  Stiles just lacks the emotional understanding to go with the facts.  It’s annoying as ever to know what happened but not be able to _feel_ what happened.  Still, it could’ve gone much worse, and he could have been gone much longer.  He’s grateful for that, and can’t help wondering why Damon was only here for a day.  It always seems Damon stays for shorter periods if something major is going on with the pack. 

            _Is he figuring out how to control when he comes and goes?_

Stiles isn’t sure if he finds the idea relieving or absolutely terrifying.  It’s hard to believe the timid personality he’s watched in videos—who’s even given “hope you’re back soon, Stiles” sentiments in those videos—could pose a real threat of any sort.  Still, if he learns to control it and Stiles doesn’t, what’s to stop him from taking the reins completely?

            _The endless reminders that he isn’t worth anything and doesn’t deserve anything that scream through his head because I finally shut them out of mine,_ Stiles mentally answers him own question.

            He feels bad sometimes for the fact that his life is only better because Damon’s and Wretch’s suck more.  Still, they’re not their own people.  They’re Stiles right? So he’s just shoving it off on himself.  It’s just compartmentalizing, right? To the extreme, sure, but not so bad really, if it keeps him sane and makes him function normally half the time instead of functioning on a mediocre level all the time. 

            The logic of his self-condolence works as well as it ever does, and he sighs, grabbing the post-it notes from the top of the dresser and scrawling out “Thanks, Damon.  Sorry you only got a day with them” before sticking it to the top of the nightstand.  Damon rarely replies; when he does it’s because he can answer with a short “I don’t mind” or “you’re welcome”.  The longer notes and deeper questions generally go unrequited.  Stiles would have stopped writing them a long time ago, except that he knows Damon keeps every single one neatly stacked and tucked away in the bottom drawer of the dresser.

            Stiles moseys down to the kitchen.  Collin’s at the table fiddling with his plane.  Addie’s sitting on the counter drawing smiley faces in the spilled flour.  From the looks of it, he’s just in time for breakfast.

            “Damon!” Addie greets with a wide smile, reaching her arms out to be carried.

            _Oh, shit._

Hearing the wrong title hurts more than he expected.  Logan’s done it plenty of times too, but somehow it’s worse.  Maybe because she’s supposed to be Stiles’ kid.  Maybe just because she’s the first to get attached to Damon _before_ knowing Stiles.  Whatever it is, it puts an unpleasant ache in Stiles’ chest.

            “Uh—Stiles now,” he corrects with a forced smile.  “Morning, Addie.”

            “Huh?”

            “Remember what Isaac said?” Collin interjects.  “Stiles gets confused sometimes.”

            He’s studying Stiles like one would assess a threat.  Stiles understands, but he still hates it.  Addie just looks perplexed.

            “But Damon told me we could play on the swing today,” she pouts.  “Derek said we could after breakfast.”

            “Stiles loves the swing,” Derek says.  “He’s the one who made it.  I bet he wants to play on it as much as Damon did, and Damon can push you on the swing next time he’s here.”

            “When’s that gonna be?”

            “I’m not sure, Addie.”

            She frowns at Derek a bit longer before turning back to Stiles.  

            “You like the swing?” she asks Stiles, checking Derek’s facts.

            “Yeah, dude, it’s awesome.  We can play out there as long as you want.”

            She nods approval.  “Okay, good.”

            “You and Stiles go on and take the pancakes to the table.  Isaac should be back any minute.”

            “Where’d he go?”

            “For syrup.”

            “ _This_ pancake-making, waffle-loving, French-toast-factory house is out of syrup?” Stiles asks.  “Guess they finally got that new ice rink in hell.”

            “Hell’s a bad word,” Addie informs him, and Collin snorts a laugh.

            “Yes, it is,” Stiles agrees quickly.  “I—uh—sorry.  Ice rink in heck.”

            “What’s that mean?”

            “Never mind.”

            “Smooth,” Collin comments with a sneer.

            Stiles bites back a retort.

_He’s ten.  I’m supposed to be an adult.  Filters and whatnot._

“Eat your pancakes before I have to put you in time out for bad words,” Derek instructs with a smirk.

            “There’s no syrup, Mighty Alpha.  Pancakes without syrup is blasphemy.”

            “You eat yours with powdered sugar all the time.”

            “I want sugar on _my_ pancakes!” Addie trills.  “Please?”

            “Sugar instead of syrup?” Derek asks.

            “No, both.”

            Derek smiles but shakes his head. 

“You can’t have both; it’s too much sugar.”

            “ _Derek—”_

“Shut up, Addie; you don’t even like powdered sugar on stuff. You cried when Gram put some on you strawberries at—”

            The end of Collin’s sentence trails off until it’s almost inaudible.  Stiles knows the feeling too well, speaking of the recently passed without meaning too, forgetting the gaping wound the words will remind you of.  He pushes his chair back form the table in the next instant, heading for the back door.

            “Not hungry.  Going for a run,” he mutters just before it closes behind him.

            _Yep, you’ll fit right in as a Hale, kid._

“I’m not hungry either,” Addie asserts, sliding down from her chair and heading for the stairs. 

            _Great._

“You get him; I got her?”

            Derek sighs and nods.  “Yeah, sure.”

            _Life as a parental unit.  Here we go._

************************************************************

 

            Becoming a parent all of a sudden is a bit harder than Isaac anticipated, to say the least.  Becoming a parent to two children who’s world was recently torn apart adds another layer of complication.  Then there’s the whole issue of Stiles and Damon and Wretch—who they still haven’t met, thank God—to add further impediment to the normal, settled environment they’re trying to create.  Nevertheless, through temper tantrums and nightmares and everything in between, they make it through the first week relatively unscathed.  They’re all adjusting, and Isaac’s faith that this will work out well for everyone is growing ever-stronger.  

            “Hey, Isaac?” Collin says, when he plops down on the couch beside him.

            Stiles is upstairs putting Addie down for a quick nap after a morning at the pond. 

“Yeah?”

“She’s pack now, isn’t she?”

It’s been true for a few days now, though Addie hasn’t said anything aloud.  

“Yes.”

“I’m not though.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“You tell me,” Isaac replies.  “Addie’s young; she feels at home here; and so she identifies with this pack enough that she’s in now.”

“I thought you had to pledge to a pack.”

“Most pack’s do that, ask for a verbal commitment, but it’s a metal admission as much as anything.  If you said the words but didn’t intend to follow through, it wouldn’t work.  In her head, we’re her pack now.”

“Oh.”

“You know all this bond stuff is kinda hard to pin down.”

“Yeah, just—I dunno. I figured we’d both have to _say_ it.  I didn’t think she could just join without me.”

“She’s not picking us over you.”

“She joined a pack I’m not in,” he points out.

“She’s four.”

“She’s _my_ sister. _My_ family.”

“So are we.”

“No you’re not,” he replies,  and what Isaac suspects is the real reason Collin’s not pack yet comes out.   Guilt crosses the boy’s face as he realizes what he said. “I don’t mean—you’re all really nice and all that.  I like it here, but you’re not my family.”

Isaac doesn’t respond immediately because he’s got no idea what to say to that.  Collin stares pointedly across the room, tears welling but not spilling over.  He looks so much like Derek in the moment it’s uncanny—simultaneously seeming shattered and yet resolutely unbreakable. 

“I know,” Isaac says finally.  “We’re not trying to replace them, though, you understand that? Jackson and Scott are like brothers to me; they’re family.  That doesn’t mean they replace my brother Cam who passed away.  It just means I still have someone there for me still even though Cam’s gone.”

“Back-up brothers?”

“Yeah, if you want to think of it like that.”

They’re silent a moment or two more, but Isaac feels like the conversation isn’t over just yet.  Collin takes a shaky breath before finally wondering, “If Cam could see you know, like, if he knew what you were doing and stuff, you think he’d be mad you had back-up brothers?”

“I don’t think so,” Isaac answers honestly.  “I think he’d be glad I had someone to have my back and people I feel safe with.”

“That’s good then.”

“I don’t think your family would be upset that you found a new pack.  I think they’d be happy you found—”

“You didn’t know my Grandad,” Collin replies morosely.  “He—the Grayson pack is hundreds of years old.  We’ve got a tradition to uphold.  It’s—we—he wouldn’t like us being here, in a pack with barely any bloodline left and not so many rules and traditions and stuff.  He’d be embarrassed.”

“Are you embarrassed?”

“No.  I like it here.”

“I know we’re not the same kind of pack your family was, but that doesn’t mean that joining this pack overrides that one.  Every pack starts someplace.  Just because we’re restarting the Hale Pack doesn’t mean this legacy won’t one day get back to where it was.  I hope this family lasts for hundreds of years too.  You’re just here to see the beginning instead of the result.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“And you’ll influence the beginning,” Isaac reminds.  “If you decide to stay and join in, you could be Alpha one day.  You’ll help get the pack on the road to the kind of respect and reputation we want to build.  Derek knows how the old family packs work; you two can talk about the best parts of that, bring it into the best parts of this new pack, and make something even better.  You see? You’re not shutting down what your family started, you’re evolving it, keeping it alive in small ways every day.”

Collin’s quiet again, but definitively so.  He seems lost in thought, and Isaac resists the urge to keep pushing the idea of this pack until Collin admits he wants to be part of it.  Isaac knows it’s just a matter of time.  He can’t see Collin leaving his sister behind.  He knows the kid wouldn’t be happy in most of the other packs that would take him.  It’s just a matter of time and warming up to the idea of this new pack.

_At least I hope it’s just a matter of time._

*************************************************************

 

            Derek rolls over in his sleep, nearly asleep again when it registers that the smell of breakfast is wafting through the room but both Isaac and Stiles are still in bed with him. 

            _So who’s in the kitchen?_

“I wanna make the eggs,” Addie’s voice whines.

            “You’re not big enough yet.  Your job’s the toast.”

            “But I—”

            “Next week, okay?  Just not today.”

“Hey, wake up,” he mumbles sleepily, giving Isaac and Stiles both a shake.  “The kids are making breakfast.”

            “Huh?”

            “The kids are making breakfast,” he repeats quietly. 

            _I’m not sure if it’s a good thing.  I hope it’s a good thing.  Mostly I feel like I’m supposed to be the parent and then kids should not have to make their own breakfasts.  They should know to wake us up._

            “Surprise!” Addie announces happily when Derek walks blearily into the kitchen.  “Breakfast!”

            “I can see that,” Derek says.

            She’s sitting on the counter next to enough toast to feed a small army.  Collin’s standing on a step stool managing at least three-dozen eggs that are scrambling on the griddle.   To say the least, they’ve overestimated the appetite of this family, but the gesture’s still sweet.

            “What’s the occasion?” Derek wonders.

            “It’s Sunday,” Collin replies.  “Pack breakfast on Sunday would be a good tradition, right? I thought we could maybe invite everybody?”

            It’s actually a tradition they’ve attempted before.  Stiles used to cook huge batches of brunch on Saturday mornings, but somewhere along the way the practice fizzled out.  Derek has the feeling that the hopefully ten-year-old waiting for his approval will make sure the custom sticks this time.

            “Yeah,” Derek agrees with a smile.  “It’s an awesome tradition to have.  My mom used to make blueberry pancakes every Sunday when I was little.”

            “Blueberry pancakes could go good with eggs.”

            “And toast!” Addie chimes in.

            “I’ll make the sausage,” Isaac offers as he walks in. 

            “I’ll watch all of you work while I try to imbibe enough coffee to justify being awake before noon,” Stiles informs.

            “Then make enough coffee for everybody,” Collin says, “and maybe call people?”

            “Sure thing, kid.  You better feel loved.  I don’t wake up early for just anybody, you know.”

            Collin smiles.  “I do.”

            “Do what?”  Stiles asks.

            Collin ducks his head, look of embarrassment spreading across his face, but he still mutters, “Feel loved or whatever,” and shrugs.

            Derek doesn’t even bother trying to stop the beaming smile at the assertion.  There’s no stopping it, especially not with the internal glow of the pack growing another member stronger accompanying the words. 

            _They’re with us.  They’re home.  They’re our kids._

_Holy shit I’ve got kids._

 

***********************************************************************

 

 

“So cool thing is you don’t actually have to fake anything, you really are their next of kin,” Stiles informs.  “More or less.”

“Derek’s our cousin?” Collin repeats disbelievingly

“Well, more like fourth cousin twice removed on your mother’s side or something, but yes, essentially, he’s your cousin.”

            Apparently a Hale married a Grayson four generations ago.  It’s a stretch to say the least, but it makes it much easier to sell the guardianship arrangements Mr. Whittemore is overseeing so they can get Collin back in school and Addie in kindergarten next year. 

            “I got us a tour for Langley Academy on Monday, and then one to see Everett Elementary on Wednesday.”

            The question of public or private school is still up in the air.  Collin hasn’t been much help in choosing between the two.  In the end they decided for just a look around both to let him see where he feels more at home.  Stiles is hoping for the public school, people in private schools tend to pay a little too much attention and there’s less of a crowd to get lost in.  Still, whatever Collin prefers is fine. 

            “Addie, I was thinking we could find some preschool—”

            “No, I wanna stay here,” she interrupts.  “I don’t wanna go to school.  I wanna stay here.”

            She latches onto Isaac’s leg with a death grip, and he bends to pick her up.

            “Hey, it’s okay, baby; you don’t have to.  Stiles was just suggesting it.”

            It’s not the first sign of separation anxiety they’ve encountered, and Stiles tries not to worry about it.  It’s not so abnormal for toddlers to have attachment issues after all. 

            _Pretty sure she’s already got or is going to have more than the normal kid issues though._

“We could visit, just to see.  You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”

            “I don’t wanna!”

            “Hey, don’t I get an option?” Collin asks.

            “No.”

            “Jeez, Derek, I’m kidding.  No offense but friends who aren’t like ancient would be nice.”

            “We are not _ancient_ ,” Stiles protests.

            “You’re like—old and stuff though.  Kids to play with who aren’t babies I meant.”

            “I’m not a baby!” Addie protests.

            “Only babies cry to stay home.”

            “Collin,” Isaac scolds. 

            “Fine. _Little kid_ whatever.”

            “You suck!” Addie informs Collin.

            “Addie, we talked about that; don’t say that,” Isaac reminds.

It’s become her favorite comeback to everything she disagrees with: you suck, vegetables suck, naps suck…

            “Uncle Jackson says it,” she argues.

            “If Uncle Jackson jumped off a bridge, would you jump off after him?”

            “I do when he jumps in the pond,” she reasons seriously, and Stiles can’t help but huff a laugh.

            “You’re lucky you’re cute,” Isaac says with a sigh.  “But if I hear “suck” one more time today the Tangled Blu-ray gets put up for a week.”

            “ _Isaac,_ ” she whines. 

            “Don’t say it, and you’ve got nothing to worry about.”  She pouts as he turns and walks toward the kitchen with her.   “Come on; we’ll clean up the kitchen for Stiles since he cooked.”

            Stiles watches them exit with a fond smile.  To have had so much shit to deal with from his own dad, Isaac sure makes an excellent one.  He’s patient and good at explaining things—of course all the practice he’s had on Stiles in his various forms of forgetfulness probably don’t hurt.  Stiles sincerely hopes it’s not all just countering the awful way Mr. Lahey was; he hopes at least some of it is mirrored from experience. 

Though Stiles is still petrified that he isn’t fit to be a dad, it really seems like Isaac was born for it.  The fact that he was willing to forfeit the experience for Stiles’ sake means the world, but Stiles is glad Isaac ended up with the opportunity.  He deserves it.  Derek too, though he’s still mostly petrified like Stiles. 

            “Stiles?” Derek says.  “You okay?”

            “I’m awesome,” Stiles replies truthfully.

            _This is all pretty awesome._

***********************************************************************

 

            Addie’s in her room, but it’s oddly quiet.  Derek goes to check on her and make sure she hasn’t decided the room needs a mural again.  He’s glad to see she’s kept her artwork to paper this time.  She’s drawn three pictures already and working on a fourth.

            “Those look great, Addie,” he compliments as he walks in. 

            “I’m making everybody ones, except Collin ‘cause he said my flowers were ugly.”  She looks up at Derek.  “They’re not right?”

            “No, not at all,” Derek assures.  “They’re nice a bright.  You did a good job.”

            “I did the red ones for you,” Addie says, offering the paper filled with disproportionate blob-shaped flowers.

            “Oh, wow, thank you,” he says.  “Can I hang it on the fridge?”

            “Uh-huh, and these,” she says pushing the other two finished works toward him.  “The yellow is for Stiles and the orange one is Isaac’s.”

            “Who’s the blue one for?” Derek wonders with a nod to the paper she’s coloring now. 

            “Damon.  Can I put it in his room?”

            “Sure, you can,” Derek replies, voice nearly catching in his throat.  “He’ll love it.”

            “When’s he coming back?”

            “I’m not sure, sweetie.”

            “Soon maybe?”

            “Maybe,” Derek confirms.

            It strikes Derek that she’s the first person who’s ever seemed to miss Damon.  Sure everyone in the pack likes Damon; it’s impossible not to be fond of the timid, selfless beta.  Still, Damon’s presence means Stiles is gone, so no one really prefers that Damon be here.  Addie’s not necessarily picking one over the other, but she’s got a more equal view of the two.  It’s a perspective Derek hadn’t really considered.

            _So is that a good thing or a bad thing? Her missing Damon?_

            “All done,” she announces, sliding her chair back from the small table and rising to her feet.  “I need tape,” she tells Derek.  “To put it on the wall.”

            “I think there’s some in the kitchen drawer.  Let’s go look.”

            Stiles is at the bar drinking what’s probably his eighth cup of coffee as he types away at his computer.  He just got a new customer for his web-design services, and he’s deep in concentration, mouth hanging open as he squints at the screen

            “Stiles, I made you a picture,” Addie informs as they walk in.   “Stiles,” she repeats when he doesn’t respond, tugging at his pant leg for good measure.

            “Sorry, Addie.  Tell me again?”

            “I made you a picture,” she repeats, slow and deliberately, pointing to Derek who obligingly holds up the yellow artwork.  “See?”

            “That’s gorgeous,” Stiles says with a smile, “and you’re adorable,” he adds, scooping her up with one arm to plant a kiss on her forehead.

            “Ew,” she complains.

            “Ew?” Stiles replies.  “I’ll have you know my kisses are the best kisses.  They’re magic.”

            “Are not, they’re slobbery!”

            “Slobbery? No way! This is slobbery,” he informs, raising her higher to blow on her belly as she shrieks but giggles in delight. 

            “Derek, help!” Addie calls.

            The tickle fight that ensues leaves them slightly winded on the floor of the den.  Somewhere along the way they started throwing pillows too, and the room’s a mess.  Derek doesn’t care; these are the moments he’d keep going for forever if he could.  From the sound of it, Isaac just got home from picking up Collin. 

            “What the heck happened here?” Isaac wonders when they walk in.

            “Epic tickle fight; shame you missed it,” Stiles informs.

            “I won!” Addie claims.

            “Hey,” Stiles protests.

            “So you’re the current champ, huh?” Isaac asks her.

            “Uh-huh.”

            “Not for long!” he cries, running toward them. 

            She squeals and takes off running down the hall.  Isaac and Stiles follow, leaving Derek and Collin in the den.  Collin rolls his eyes and sighs dramatically.

            “Tickle fights not your thing?”

            “I’m ten and a _half,_ Derek,” Collin reminds.

            “Oh, of course, and _way_ too cool for games,” Derek says.

            “Too cool for stupid games,” Collin mutters.

            “How was school?”

            “Good.”

            “Math test?”

            “B plus,” Collin replies, small but proud grin emerging.  “Bet I can get an A on the next one.”

            “That’s great!  You’d never even know you were playing catch-up, Collin.  You should be proud of yourself.”

            Collin shrugs off the compliment and pulls the graded test from his book bag. 

            “I got all the long division ones right,” he says, holding it out to Derek, “but I missed some of the fraction stuff at the end.”

            “That’s okay; at least you know what to work on next time.”

            “Yep.”

            “Can I put it on the fridge?”

            “With Addie’s dumb drawings?”

            “I told you to stop calling your sister’s drawing dumb, Collin.  It’s not nice.  She cares what you think.”

            “No, she doesn’t.”

            “Of course she does, you’re her big brother.”

            “Fine, I’ll start telling her they’re van goat or whatever.”

            “Van Gough,” Derek corrects with a smile. 

            They walk in the kitchen and he stick the test paper up next to Addie’s drawings and the birthday card Logan drew Isaac last fall.  It’s an odd way to measure success for werewolves maybe, but Derek feels like the display is a victory, a new generation of the pack displaying the various talents they have to offer the world.  Granted, he hopes they develop their talents past crayon drawings and long division, but it’s still a damn good start.

 

 

           

           

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks as always to the array of fabulous folks who encourage me through the chapters :)


	5. Chapter 4

            Derek jolts awake at the sound of Stiles’ shrieks.  He grabs at Stiles’ arm only to have Stiles’ claws swipe across his chest. 

            “Derek won’t let you take me!” he sobs.  “He won’t! He won’t! I’m good!”

            “It’s me; it _is_ Derek.  Derek and Isaac. It’s okay.  You’re okay,” Derek soothes.

            “Isaac! Derek!? What happened?” Collin calls from upstairs.

            “Stiles had a nightmare, guys.  It’s okay.  Everybody’s okay,” Isaac answers.  “I’m coming right there.”

            Isaac leaves to tend to the kids, leaving Derek to console Stiles—Damon?

            “I’m sorry, Derek,” he sobs, clutching at Derek now, and Derek can feel him drawing pain away even though the wounds have almost completely healed.  “I’m so sorry.  I thought it was Thomas.  Thomas said—he said—”

            “He can’t hurt you anymore,” Derek cuts off, not wanting the kids to hear anything Thomas might’ve said in the nightmare.  “You didn’t mean to hurt me.  It’s all okay.”

            “Please don’t make me go back to sleep. Please?”

            “Of course you don’t have to.  Come on, let’s—let’s get some water and watch some TV maybe?” Derek suggests, offering his hand. 

            Damon nods and takes it.  The sounds of Isaac getting the kids back to bed drift down the stairs.  Damon whimpers.

            “I woke them.  I’m so sorry.  I—”

            “They’re okay, Damon. It’s not your fault,’” Derek says, squeezing Damon’s hand in reassurance.   “Don’t worry.”

 

*************************************************************************

 

            “You’re sure he’s not hurt?” Addie asks again as Isaac tucks her in next to her brother. 

            “I’m sure, sweetie.  He just had a bad dream.  He’s okay.”

            “Is he Damon again?” Collin asks.  “He sounds like Damon.”

            “I think so.”

            “So will Damon stay a long time now? Like Stiles did? Or only a little while?” Collin wonders.

            They knew Damon barely a day before Stiles returned.  Stiles has been here over a month now. 

            “I don’t know,” Isaac answers.  “Sometimes just a little while.  Sometimes a month or so.”

            “He has to stay long enough to see his pictures,” Addie says.  “Right?”

            She’s added six more to the original one taped proudly to the wall in Damon’s bedroom. 

            “We’ll see, sweetie; if he doesn’t see them this time, he’ll see them next time, okay?”

            She frowns and doesn’t respond.  Collin still looks awfully on edge, and it’s not the first time Isaac’s wondered if there’s a way to protect the kids better from Stiles’ nightmares.  This is the first that’s sent him into a personality shift since the kids moved in, but it’s certainly not the first that’s woken them.  Of course, the kids wake from their own nightmares often enough; they can probably empathize with Stiles plenty, and that fact wrecks Isaac all over again.

            “You could—uh—stay until she goes back to sleep,” Collin says with a look to Addie.  “Ya know, just in case.”      

            “I’m not scared,” Addie replies easily.  “It’s just Damon.”

            “I know.  Me neither.  Just—”

            “It’ll make me feel better to stay, and then I’m going to sleep in the extra room across the hall for tonight, okay? So if you need anything.  I’ll be right there,” Isaac says.  “You’re right though; it’s just Damon, and the bad alphas that gave him the nightmares can’t hurt anybody anymore.  There’s nothing to worry about.”

            Isaac wishes his words reassured himself half as much as they reassure the kids.  He settles himself on the “princess seat” and pretends he doesn’t plan to stay here for the rest of the night.

 

*****************************************************

 

            Damon hears the pattering of small feet coming down the hallway.  He hears the much heavier footfalls as Isaac follows frantically.

            “Addie, what are you doing?”

            “I wanna see Damon.”

            “You’ll wake him up.”

            “He’s not sleeping,” she replies.  “Listen.”

            _Has she been hearing me turn the pages?_ Damon wonders, looking down at the book in his hands. _Or can she tell from my pulse? Probably my pulse._

“You can come in,” Damon says quietly.  “I don’t mind.”

            “See?” Addie says, walking forward again and coming in.  She smiles when she sees Damon, and it’s impossible not to return the grin.  “Did you see your pictures?” she asks eagerly.

            “I did,” he assures, looking at the brightly colored amateur artwork now papering one wall of his room.  “They’re gorgeous, Addie.  Thank you.”

            “I can make bunches more,” she offers as she hops-skips to the bed.  “Aunt Allison taught me how to draw puppies!”

            “That’s great,” he praises.  “Maybe you can teach me?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Not tonight though,” Isaac reminds.  “You need to get back to bed.”

            “But Isaac, I’m not even tired,” Addie whines.

            “You will be tomorrow.”

            “What if Damon is gone tomorrow?”

            She sounds genuinely displeased at the thought. Damon knows his mouth is gaping open with surprise at her words, but he can’t seem to manage to close it. 

            _I’m misunderstanding.  I must be.  You barely know me.  Surely you miss Stiles?_

“Even if he is, he’ll be back soon, you need to rest.”

            “I’ll—I’ll try to stay,” Damon offers, though the promise is empty; he’s got no more control than he ever does.

            “And we’ll swing tomorrow? And I can show you the new tree house! It’s almost done.”

            “That sounds good.”

            “Okay.”

            She clambers up into Damon’s lap, and he’s wondering what she wants until she wraps her arms around Damon.  It’s so much easier to let his guard down with her, to relax into the embrace and enjoy it. 

            “G’night, Damon,” she says.

            “Goodnight, Addie.”

            She pulls away from him and waits for a moment before tapping her forehead and instructing, “Now you gimme a goodnight kiss.  That’s how it works.”

            He obliges with a quick kiss to the indicated spot, smiling when she nods her approval. 

            “Night, Damon; see you tomorrow,” Isaac says as Addie walks back out.

            _God, I hope so.  I want longer this time.  They know Stiles.  I can stay a few days and it won’t be so bad for them.  Right? That’s not too selfish?_

Addie pauses in the doorway and turns, looking from the plush wolf toy in her hands and back to Damon, frowning.  He doesn’t understand what’s wrong, but he doesn’t like the worry on her little face.  She walks back over and holds out the toy.

            “You can have Luna tonight,” she tells him.  “Uncle Jackson got her for me.  She’s a guard wolf.  She’s magic ‘n’ chases away bad dreams ‘n’ stuff.”

            “Don’t you want it?”

            “I got Collin tonight,” she says with a little shrug.  “Your nightmares are real scary.  I can share.”

            _Why do you want to be so good to me? Why do you even care? All I’ve done is give you a few piggyback rides and take Stiles away from you._

“Thank you, Addie,” Damon says, feeling like the words aren’t nearly enough and wondering how to express the gratitude better.

            “Welcome,” Addie says heading back to the door. 

 

**************************************************************

 

            “Okay, Stiles,” Cora calls through the house as the front door opens.  “I give up on this programming crap.  You’re going to have to—”

            Cora stops short at the sight of Damon sitting on the couch with his book.

            “Not Stiles,” he says, biting his lip.  “Sorry.”

            “I told you to quit apologizing for being you,” she reminds.

            Derek still doesn’t entirely understand how Cora’s abrasive presence puts Damon at ease.  She never acts like he’s breakable, though, and there’s something unspeakably wonderful about it.  Derek wishes he could be a little more like that and find the balance between normal and overprotective, but it’s not a medium he really ever expects to achieve.

            “But I can’t help you with programming,” Damon says unhappily.  “I don’t know—”

            “Dumb project anyway,” she replies, “and if I complain long enough, Stiles does it for me to shut me up”

            “Slacker,” Derek grumbles, rolling his eyes.

            “Resourceful,” she counters.            “Is there coffee? If there’s no one to do my homework for me there at least better be coffee.”

            “There’s leftover breakfast,” Damon offers.

            Isaac didn’t have time to eat his this morning on the way out to class so there’s a waffle with a banana and bacon smiley face waiting on the bar.  Addie likes them with the smiley, and Damon was more than happy to oblige, as always.

            “Now that’s just fucking adorable,” Cora says when she sees it. 

            “Dollar in the swear jar!” Addie chimes triumphantly, and Cora groans.  “ _Two_ for the ‘f’ word!”

            Derek chuckles.  The swear jar has been a fairly effective tool for controlling language in the house with the kids.  Addie and Collin split the spoils once a month, with deductions along the way if they’ve said “bad words” themselves.

            “Look, you little munchkin—”

            “Two!” Addie insists, fetching the jar from its spot on the bookshelf and shaking it so the change rattles.

            Damon tenses next to Derek on the sofa.  He squeezes his eyes shut a moment or two, gulping in shallow gasps of air a few times before managing to even out his breathing.  Derek longs to lay a comforting hand on him, but the contact would only help Derek, not Damon.  Instead he simply waits with bated breath to be sure the moment passes without incident.

            “Good job,” he praises when Damon opens his eyes again.

            “Thanks,” Damon says with a weak smile.

 

*****************************************************************           

 

            “So what d’you want for your birthday, Damon?” Cora asks as they play the second game of Candy Land for the morning while Derek’s out for groceries.

            “My birthday?”

            “Yeah, on Monday.”

            “Hey, that’s the same as Stiles’ birthday,” Addie observes.

            “Yep,” Cora confirms, “’Cause they’re like twins.”

“He’s missing his birthday?” Damon asks woefully, mood plunging. 

            _That’s not fair.  I don’t want to take away his birthday.  I don’t want to leave so soon either.  That’s just a few days from now._

“You’re getting to have your birthday,” she rephrases.  “It’s not a bad thing.”

            “But I bet they’ve been planning things.  Stiles should—”

            “Stiles doesn’t get to dictate how much fun you have because you happen to be here instead of him,” Cora persists; it’s one of her favorite sentiments to give Damon, and though he doesn’t entirely agree, it’s still pretty nice to hear.   “If he wants all his birthdays, he should work on both of you being here at the same time.”

            _We both know reconciling means I go away.  I’m just a small part of him surely, the weakest bit—well, there’s Wretch I suppose.  I’m better than Wretch.  Still, there must be so much more to him for so many people to care about him the way everyone does.  You’ll barely be able to notice the bit that’s me once he fixes us._

Reconciliation is Damon’s deepest desire and greatest fear.  Mostly he just tries not to think on it too much. 

“We can get Stiles and Damon at the same time?” Addie wonders brightly.

            “Maybe,” Cora says.  “One day, when Stiles isn’t being so stubborn.”

            “How come Stiles is stubborn?”

            “’Cause he’s scared.”

            “Scared of what?”

            “It’s complicated, munchkin; don’t worry about it.  It’s your turn to draw a card.”

            Derek comes home just as Cora wins the game.  Addie pouts but forgets her disappointment quickly at the prospect of the popsicles Derek brought.  She takes one and heads out the back door while they unpack the groceries.  

 “What’s wrong, Damon?” Cora asks, stepping into his path as he walks across the kitchen.

            “Nothing.”

            “You suck at lying.”

            “I’m fine,” he assures.

            “Then your definition of ‘fine’ is inaccurate.  What’s bugging you?”

            “Damon?” Derek asks.  “ _Is_ something bugging you?”

            “No, not really.  It’s just that—I—I don’t need birthday things.”

            “Dude, we are not ignoring your birthday,” Cora replies. 

            _You have before.  You must have.  I’ve been here four years almost; I’ve never had one before._

The words sound too much like a criticism of the pack, so Damon holds them in.

            “I don’t mind,” he lies.

            Now that the idea’s been brought up, he can’t help wondering what it would be like to have a birthday for himself.  He was here for Scott’s birthday a few years ago, and Jackson’s last year, but they only stayed a little while at each party. 

            “No, Cora’s right,” Derek says, guilt on his face.  “We can’t ignore your birthday.  We shouldn’t.  I’m sorry we haven’t done more before.”

            _You’re not mad I’m here, Derek? I ruined any plans you had.  Surely you’re at least frustrated, even if you think it’s not my fault.  I’ll make it up to everyone.  I can cook pack dinner or help Collin and Isaac finish the tree house.  Something._

            “You do so much already, Derek.  I don’t need a birthday, too.”

            “Well, I want an excuse to shove cake in my face,” Cora replies.  “Besides, Lydia fucking loves planning that kind of—”

            “Two more dollars Aunt Cora,” Addie says disapprovingly as she returns from outside. 

            “Son of a—biscuit,” she mutters darkly, glaring at Derek and heaving a sigh; Derek laughs at her frustration.  “I’m going to go broke.”

            “I’m gonna be rich,” Addie informs; she peers at the contents of the jar as Cora deposits two more bills in.  “Is it enough for princess shoes, yet?” she asks Derek.

            “Maybe.  Bet it will be if you add your allowance.  Have you done your chores today?”

            “Not yet.”

            “Better hop to it,” Derek advises, “or you won’t have time to go with Collin to show Damon the tree house.”

           

****************************************************************

           

            “Isaac?” Dr. Denison calls.  “Can I speak with you a moment?”

            “I have a few minutes,” Isaac replies, walking up to the front of the classroom as everyone else files out.

            “The Master’s program I spoke with you about—”

            “Dr. Denison, it was a stretch to being with.  We’ve got two kids now I—”

            “You can stretch your Master’s out up to six years.  I think the long-distance program with Cal-State could be an incredible opportunity for you.  You have some unique—”

            “I’m not using my husband’s illness to get myself published,” Isaac interrupts.

            “Then just do the research; don’t worry about the publication.  Give information that could help more people suffering from the same issues.”

            _No one has the same issues as Stiles.  You don’t know the half of it._

            “You’ve got the background to help not only Stiles but—”

            “I don’t want to do clinical work.  I’m getting a job with social services.  You know that.”

            “I know it’s your plan, but why not use all the resources available to you right now to go as far as you can?  You could provide valuable input.  It will give you publicity.  You may even be able to secure grant money to specifically help children with traumatic—”

            “I’ll—think about it, okay?” Isaac concedes, not sure if he means it or not. He mostly just wants Dr. Denison to stop pushing this idea.

            He hasn’t actually even mentioned the potential of a Master’s program to anyone else.  There’s too much on their plates already.  How could he add more? Derek and Stiles pick up so much slack in everything so that Isaac can come to class and finish projects, even more so now that the kids are around. 

            “I need a topic proposal by Monday if I’m going to put the recommendation in with enough time for it to be reviewed before you apply.  I really do think you’d enjoy working under Pat Yancy; she’d make an excellent mentor for—”

            “I’m sure she would.”

            “You shouldn’t let a chance like this pass by, Isaac.  You’re very bright; you could—”

            “Thanks, Dr. Denison, but I—I gotta go pick up my s—Collin from school.  Don’t want to be late.”

            “Of course not.  I’ll see you Monday.”

            “See you.”

            Isaac all but bolts from the room, unsettled not only at the prospect of how appealing doing a Master’s study could be but also at the fact that he nearly referred to Collin as “my son.”  Isaac’s thought of the kids as his for a while now, but the verbal declaration seems like a whole new level, one he doesn’t want to hit too quickly.  Collin and Addie had parents who loved them.  Isaac’s still not sure how fast they can move forward while still respecting that fact. 

            It’s easy enough to shove all the topics to the back of his mind as he listens to Collin talk about his day—he finally got an ‘A’ on a math test.  He was captain for the kick ball team in P.E. today.  The distractions continue easily until they arrive home and Damon is cooking supper.  It’s not that Isaac doesn’t like Damon, but Damon isn’t and can never be Stiles.  Damon is just a relatively benign symptom of a terrifyingly severe disorder. 

            _Would Stiles hate me if he found out I’m considering a Master’s program that would let me study dissociative identity disorder? Would he confide more or less in me while I worked on it? Could it help us find answers? Or just rock a boat that’s still barely staying on course some days? Help or hurt? One step forward or two steps back? I don’t know what to do.   I don’t know what would be best for us._

“You’re quiet.  Rough day at school?” Derek wonders as they set the table. 

            “I—uh—it’s complicated.”

            “Is everything okay?”

            “Yeah, just—you remember Dr. Denison, my advisor?”

            “Yeah, you’re in his class this semester, right?”

            Isaac nods.  “He’s just really pushing this opportunity, and I—I don’t know—it seems like—it’s just a lot to think about.”

            “What kind of opportunity? A job?”

            “No, it’s—never mind,” Isaac says, regretting that he even breached the topic.  “I’m probably not going to take it anyway.  It’s more trouble than it’s worth.”

            “Graduate school?” Derek guesses correctly, and Isaac looks up in surprise.

            “How—”

            “You’ve got a wolf-pack, two kids, two husbands, and volunteer work with the Sheriff’s department and you _still_ have a 3.8 GPA.  You’d be an idiot not to consider it, and your adviser _should_ be pushing for it.” 

            Isaac opens and closes his mouth several times, struggling for words until he finally manages, “You guys have already picked up the slack so I could do undergrad.  I don’t want to add more to that, and it’s—the topic I’d pursue as a potential thesis is kind of—it could be a really good thing or a really bad one and—I don’t know that I want to add this to everything else.  Grad school’s not something you do on a whim.”

            “What’s the topic?”

            “What d’you think?”

            “Dissociative identity in general or Stiles’ case in particular?”

            “Both? I guess.  I don’t know.”

“Could you fix him?” Damon’s voice wonders from the doorway. 

            Isaac and Derek both freeze, turning to look at Damon who’s waiting to set a casserole down on the table.  Damon looks a little surprised, like maybe he hadn’t fully decided to ask it.  He doesn’t retract the statement though. Isaac glances at Derek, unsure how to respond.  In the end, he can’t bring himself to lie, so he just tells the truth.

            “Not ‘fix’ exactly, but if—if I look into other cases of DID, I could hopefully understand it better; I could maybe get some more ideas on how to work with it.  I could get data to have other people to look at, people who really know what they’re doing.  They could give us ideas, too.”

            “So you could _help_ fix him?”

            “Maybe.”

            _But if anyone knows you can’t predict how things will work out, it’s us.  I could make it worse instead of better.  I could make no difference at all._

            Damon looks absolutely petrified at the mere idea, and Isaac can see the dish moving in his trembling hands.

            “I’m sorry that I brought it up.  I didn’t mean to upset you.”

            “I’m okay,” Damon says with a strained smile, “just—if you could help find a way to fix it—that would—it’s what—what needs to happen right? It means Stiles is all better?”

            “Maybe.  I don’t know.  You know better than anyone how complicated everything is with you and Stiles.”

            _And Wretch._

“I could—I would try to explain it—my side of the complicated,” Damon offers.  “If it will help him—help everyone.”

            “Damon, I don’t want to make you talk about anything you don’t want to.  I might not even go to this program.  It’s just an idea.”

            “Well, _if_ you do it, I can help—I can try any way.  I don’t—know what to say really, but I’ll try?”

            Damon’s voice tapers down to barely a whisper, but he holds Isaac’s gaze even after the proposition is made.  He might be terrified, but he’s also determined to be as helpful as he can.  Even more heart-breaking is the realization that he’s driven to the proposal by some part of Stiles, some timid, terrified corner of Stiles’ mind manifesting through Damon’s voice and taking what could be the first steps toward merging Stiles back into one personality.

            “Thank you, Damon,” Isaac says earnestly, voice a hint hoarse with emotion.

            _If this is the response I get, even just from you, if it gets at least one of you making progress, then I’m damn sure going to go for it.  Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’ll help fix him—you—hell, all of us._

 

*******************************************************************

 

            “Damon! Damon! Wake up! It’s your birthday!” Addie cries down the hall.

            He can hear her sprinting, so he has a moment to steel himself before the door bursts open.  She rushes in, jumping up on the bed and bouncing on the mattress joyously. 

            “Hey, no jumpin’ on the bed,” Collin says from the doorway.

            “You’re not the boss of me.”

            “Adelyn Marie,” Collin scolds, and he sounds so much like Derek—so much of the Alpha-to-be underneath the words—that Damon grabs Addie down immediately.

            “Be good,” he hisses, shoving her behind him.  “She didn’t mean to be bad, Collin. She’s young. She—”

            “Everything okay?” Derek asks coming up behind Collin in the hall.

            His appearance causes Damon to hesitate in his excuse long enough to see the puzzled look on Collin’s face.

            _Not Alpha-Elect.  He is, of course, but also just Collin.   Just Collin who won’t hurt Addie but likes to feel in charge and like an adult.  Just Collin. Just Collin, that’s all.  No one wants to hurt her.  No one wants to hurt me.  It’s just Collin.  We’re okay.  It’s just Collin._

            “Yeah, just Collin,” Derek says with a forced smile.

            “Damon, what did I do? Why—”

            “I’m okay,” Damon assures, drawing in a slow deep breath.  “I’m okay.  Not your fault.  I’m sorry.”

            “Collin, can you and Addie head on downstairs and set the table for breakfast, please?  Isaac should be back with it soon.”

            “Did he go to Caroline’s?” Addie wonders excitedly.

            “Yep. We can’t make Damon cook on his birthday.”

            _I wouldn’t mind, Derek._

            “Yay!”

            Damon flinches at the startling burst and decibel of the exclamation. 

            _Flinching at a toddler.  Pathetic little shit,_ Alec taunts.  _Making the Alpha waste money on breakfast for your worthless—_

“No, no, I’m not.  It’s okay.  It’s my birthday.”

            _Your birthday? Your birthday, are you serious? You don’t deserve a birthday! You barely deserve a name, much less a house, a pack, and the endless good things your Alpha provides while you give your pitiful, inconsequential contributions.  You’re selfish enough to not only keep Stiles from his birthday but dare to steal the attention of the pack when there are such better things they could do with their time than pretend to celebrate some burden they can’t get rid of._

“I’m not a burden.   They wanted to do it.  It’s good for the pack, not just me.  It’s my birthday.”

            _Then why haven’t they bothered before? They’ve missed three, why do this now? Maybe it’s not a birthday party; maybe they’re finally going to take your feeble offers to go away until Stiles can come home._

“No, no, no.”

“Damon,” Derek’s voice breaks in.  “Don’t listen to them, please.  Whatever they’re saying to you isn’t true.  You know that.  You have to.  We love you.  You’re here with us.  They can’t hurt you anymore.  You’re okay.”

_It’s a goodbye celebration, Damon.  Don’t you see?  It makes so much more sense.  They’re celebrating freedom from your loathsome—_

“No, no; it’s my birthday.  It’s my birthday. Derek said—he said it was good.  I’m good.  It’s my birthday.”

“What’re they telling you? Let me explain they’re wrong,” Derek beseeches.

“It’s not—it’s—they say it’s a goodbye party, but it’s not, is it? It’s my birthday, isn’t it? Because if—if you’re sending me away please just let me go, Derek; please don’t make me think it’s something else if—”

“It _is_ you’re birthday, Damon; they’re just trying to spoil all your fun because it’s going to be _awesome_.  I promise you.  Everyone is excited and there will be food and games and the whole pack is coming because we’re happy you’re _here._ We’re not ever going to send you away.”

“I’m sorry, Derek, so sorry.  I don’t mean to doubt; they’re just so _loud._ I can’t make them _stop._ ”

_That’s because you’re weak.  You’re weak, and if you really loved this pack as much as you claim to you’d leave on your own instead of sniveling to your Alpha for consolation._

***********************************************************************

 

            Derek keeps Damon close as he cries, muttering against the words from conjured Alphas clearly still ringing through his mind.  Damon’s despondent to the point of clinging to Derek so hard it just might bruise; he knows from experience there’s not much to do but wait it out—that or sedation, which he doesn’t want to offer if he doesn’t have to.  The sound of footfalls on the steps pull Derek’s attention from Damon and back to the doorway.

            “Is he okay, Derek?” Collin asks, voice trembling just a little.

The near panic in the boy’s eyes breaks Derek’s heart because he can’t comfort Collin right now.  It’s triage, and Damon needs him most in the moment; it doesn’t make it any easier to neglect the kids temporarily.

“He will be.”

“Who’s he talkin’ to?” Addie wonders.

“It’s—I’ll explain later, okay? It’s kind of like a nightmare, just a nightmare when you’re awake.  Go back downstairs with Collin.  Isaac’ll be back in just a minute.  Damon’s okay.”

“I don’t mean to doubt…no, no, no…sorry, so sorry, Alpha…”

Damon continues to mutter, switching indiscernibly between arguments against the voices and apologies to Derek.

“Collin, please,” Derek urges.  “Just go wait downstairs.”

Collin nods but stands transfixed a moment or two more before taking Addie’s hand and leading her away. 

_Today was supposed to be fun.  Perfect and happy and wonderful for Damon—for everyone.  This isn’t fair to any of them._

**********************************************************

 

            Terror shoots through Isaac when the kids meet him at the door with worried faces. 

            “What happened? What’s wrong?”

            “Damon’s got a daytime nightmare,” Addie informs, reaching her arms up in silent plea to be held; Isaac obliges, hearing the distressed whispers drifting down from upstairs and Derek’s attempts to soothe away the voices in Damon’s mind. 

            “How about we have breakfast in the tree house?” Isaac suggests.  “It’ll be like a picnic.  How about that?  Collin, grab the blankets off the couch.”

            “What about Derek and Damon?”

            “We’ll leave their breakfast here for when Damon’s feeling better.”

            Collin gathers the blankets and follows Isaac silently.  He looks on the verge of tears, and by the time they reach the tree house a few of the tears have begun to fall.  He wipes at them hurriedly, but Isaac can’t pretend not to see.

            “Collin, he’ll be all right in a little while,” Isaac assures.  “It’s okay.”

            “It’s my fault,” Collin says, voice breaking on the last word as he buries his face against Isaac and begins to cry in earnest. 

            His tears send Addie over the edge, too, and she’s confused and crying along with her brother.  Isaac kneels down so he can wrap his arms around the both of them, shushing and soothing.

            “It’s not your fault, Collin; I promise you.”

            “It was! I—I told Addie not to jump on the bed and that’s when—he got weird and looked like he was scared of me and he starting talking to people who weren’t there and—and I didn’t mean to, Isaac!”

            “Is it my fault too?” Addie wonders tearfully.  “Cause I jumped on the bed? I won’t ever do it again; I promise!”

            “No, sweetheart, it isn’t your fault, and it isn’t Collin’s either.  It’s because those bad Alphas who had him before hurt him.  It’s not your fault at all.  He just gets scared sometimes, but Derek’ll stay with him until he’s not scared anymore.   Then we’ll go back to the house, and get ready for Damon’s birthday dinner.  It’ll all be okay.”

            “Is that who he talks to? Those Alphas?” Collin asks.

            “Yes.”

            “They told him Derek was gonna make him leave.”

            “When they had him, they made him think he shouldn’t get to have anything good.  He gets scared sometimes they were right.  He hears their voices telling him bad things.”

            “Derek’s gonna make him leave?” Addie asks, voice squeaking in anxiety. 

            “No, baby, Derek’s never going to make him leave.  That’s what he’s reminding Damon now, to help him feel better.”

            “Can we go remind him, too?”

            “In a little while, we’ll let Derek take care of him for right now.  When you’re done with your breakfast we’ll head back to the house, okay?”

            Collin isn’t crying anymore; he seems lost in thought about the whole situation, and Isaac can’t even imagine trying to process all this at ten years old, or the utter bafflement Addie’s trying to manage.  After a few minutes more, the kids settled enough that Collin lets go of Isaac.   

Collin eats three bites of his omelet before he claims he’s no longer hungry.  Addie doesn’t eat anything at all, just keeps her face hidden in Isaac’s shoulder.  Isaac tries to stall the walk back by eating as slowly as he can manage.  He understands the kids’ lack of appetite since his own waffle tastes like sawdust in his mouth.  Still, he shovels each bite in, determined to give Damon as much time to pull himself together as he can before taking the kids back. 

 

***********************************************************************

 

            _Loved and useful and kept.  Loved and useful and kept._

Damon repeats the words over and over in his head, making a little singsong of the phrase.  He’s not hungry in the slightest, but he joins Derek at the table and eats the birthday breakfast so generously provided to him.  Derek’s quiet, but he’s got his chair close to Damon’s, like an assurance he plans to keep Damon close. 

            He hears the sound of Isaac approaching the house with the kids.  They’re quiet, and Damon glances to Derek in apprehension.

            _I scared them.  I upset them.  What do I do? How do I fix it?_

There’s not enough time to ask before they’re in the house.  Damon doesn’t like the wary way the children look at him, or the puffy redness around their eyes that lingers after their tears.  Addie’s gaze breaks as she hides her face against Isaac.  Damon struggles to find words to apologize, but Collin breaks the silence first.

            “Damon, I—I didn’t mean to—I’m sorry I—I wasn’t trying to scare you. I just—”

            “It’s okay.  I’m okay.  It wasn’t your fault,” Damon assures.  “It’s mine.   I need to get better at—”

            “It’s no one’s fault,” Isaac insists.  “It’s because of the Alphas, not either of you.  Blaming yourselves doesn’t help.”

            “Are the bad Alphas still saying mean things to Damon?” Addie mumbles to Isaac, peeking her face out from his shoulder to peer at Damon across the room again.

            “No, they’re quiet,” Damon says.

            _For now._

“They don’t get to ruin any more of the day,” Derek says with a smile that seems genuine but still exaggerated.  “It’s Damon’s day, and it’s going to be great.”

            _Please let that be true. Please, please, please._

            Derek gives him lots of tasks to keep him busy for the rest of the morning, but they’re all Damon’s favorite types of tasks: playing with Addie on the swing, helping in the kitchen to get food ready for when the pack comes, and helping Collin rake away leaves in the back yard.

            Collin doesn’t speak much though, and Damon supposes he’s still upset from this morning.  Isaac and Derek didn’t like Damon apologizing, but he’d still like to try some way of atoning.

            “I—I can finish on my own, Collin,” Damon offers.  “If you’d like to go in and watch television or—”

            He stops short at the unmistakable hurt on the young beta’s face. 

            _I made it worse.  Why do I always make everything worse?_

 _Because you’re a broken little monster and you know it,_ Rachael answers, and Damon resists the urge to contradict her aloud.

            “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to upset you again.  I only meant—”

            “Are you scared to be out here with me?” Collin interrupts. 

            “No.”

            “Don’t lie.”

            “I’m not lying.  I promise.  I thought—you don’t seem—I thought I was making you uncomfortable.  I don’t want you to be unhappy.  I already upset you once today and—”

            “I’m the one who upset you.  I yelled at you and made the voices start.  You were scared of me; I could tell.  You thought I was going to hurt you.”

            “I don’t mean to doubt,” Damon apologizes, looking away.  “I just—I can’t help it—the cruel Alphas they made me like this and—”

            “I’m not like them.  I’m not even an Alpha.”

            “You will be.”

            “Is that why you like Addie better than me?”

            “I like you, Collin.  I do.  Please believe me.”

            _Derek can’t think I don’t like his Alpha-Elect.  He can’t think I’m anything less than loyal.  I am loyal.  I will be.  You have to know that; he has to know that._

            “But not as much as you like Addie,” Collin persists.  “She doesn’t scare you.”

            “She’s—she’s a lower beta.  She’s little.  She—”

            “I’m ten!” he argues.  “I haven’t even made it out of the fifth grade!”

            “You’re—you’re Alpha-Elect.  I have to—I should—I _want_ to respect you differently.  I don’t mean to disappoint—”

            “Stop apologizing for everything!”

            “Yes, Collin.”

            “Stop that, too! Stop talking to me like that. I’m not Alpha yet.   I’m a kid, same as Addie! Just a kid.”

            He doesn’t know what to say if he shouldn’t apologize or what exactly Collin means by “like that”.  In the end he decides silence may be best, so he just ducks his head and nods. 

            “Stop it! Look at me!”

            Damon looks up in confusion.

            _I don’t understand what you want me to do.  Why do you look like—no, no, don’t cry.  Please don’t cry, Collin.  I wanted to take on your part of the work so you’d be happier, and now you’re not happy at all._

 _Wait until Derek sees the tears,_ Alec points out.  _Making his son, your future Alpha cry, oh the wrath he’ll bring on you, beta.  Better start pleading now that he doesn’t shred your miserable hide to ribbons for this.  Twice in one day you’ve reduced his children to tears.  You’re not just a burden; you’re bad.  Very bad, beta.  You will be punished.  You deserve to be punished for this._

“Collin, _please,_ just tell me what to do.  I—”

            “No! _You’re_ the adult.  I don’t boss you around. I—”

            “Everything okay out here?” Derek wonders, stepping out onto the porch, and Damon doesn’t have to bother kneeling; his knees just give out on their own.

            He tries to choke out an apology, but the panic is crushing the air from his chest.  He closes his eyes as the alphas scream condemnation so loudly in his mind he can’t hear anything else.

            _Insignificant, traitorous beta, making your Alpha’s children cry.  Bringing unhappiness into the family he’s allowed you to be around.  Idiot.  Monster.  Worthless.  Weak. Good-for-nothing.  Imbecile.  You don’t deserve this pack. You never did. You never will.  Pray he beats you instead of sending you away.  Be glad when his claws sink in and the blood drips down and your screams echo around you because at least you have an Alpha to be punished by.  An Alpha you’re not worthy to serve.  An Alpha you disappoint more and more with every breath.  Useless, disgraceful little shit._

           

 

******************************************************************

 

            “Damon, listen to me!” Derek pleads.  “You didn’t do anything wrong.  I’m not going to punish you.”

            His words don’t seem to break through to Damon, though; the beta’s whimpering and muttering as he curls into the fetal position amongst the freshly raked leaves.  Collin stares down at him with a look of sheer horror for just a moment or two before he takes off running away from the house.

            “Collin wait!” Derek shouts.

            “Go after him,” Isaac urges.  “I got Damon.”          

            “Isaac, what’s wrong?!” Addie cries from inside, unsurprisingly woken from her nap by the disturbance.

            “Stay there, baby.  I’m coming,” Isaac calls back.  “It’s okay.”

            “Sedate him,” Derek suggests quietly.  “I’ll find Collin.  We’ll—we’ll sort it out when he wakes up and no more taking on the three of them on our own.”

            _Guess I’m going to find out how serious Cora was about moving in. if not her, someone else will have to start coming when Damon’s here.  We can’t do this outnumbered._     

            “Yeah,” Isaac agrees.   “Go,” he adds with a nod in the direction Collin took.

            Derek assumes Collin’s heading for the tree house, but the trail doesn’t stop there.  Collin’s scent keeps going, and even when Derek falls into pace beside the kid, Collin doesn’t show any sign of slowing.

            “We can keep running if you want,” Derek says, “but we gotta talk about it eventually.”

            Collin stops so abruptly that Derek goes a few paces past and has to step back.

 “What happened to him?” Collin demands.  “To make him act like that?”

            “The alphas took him,” Derek answers. “You know that.”

            “No, I mean—I mean all you ever say is that they hurt him, but he was—I thought it just meant like _hurt_ like hitting him or knives and arrows or whatever but he was—I’ve never seen anybody be like that.  No matter how bad fights they came home from or if they had to be rescued from hunters or anything.  Me and Addie lived through the hunter stuff, and we just have nightmares and stuff.  Nothing like what happens to Damon.  What _really_ happened to him, Derek? What’s wrong with him?  Did you see him? How scared he got? Of _me_?”

            “Yeah, I know it’s unsettling to see him like that.  I’m sorry you have to.”

            “What did they do to make him like that?” Collin persists.

            It’s a loaded question and there are a million different ways to answer it.  Derek takes a seat at the base of a nearby tree, running his hand down his face as he tries to find words to explain.

            _Isaac could find the words.  He’d help you understand.  What do I say?  How do I explain and not scare or confuse the hell out of you?_

“Just _tell_ me,” Collin prods, sitting next to Derek.

            “Well, there was a pack of Alphas here trying to take out our pack and mess up the town.  That’s who kidnapped him,” Derek starts with a sigh, “but you know that.”

            “Yeah.”

            “And they wanted Stiles to help them fight us.”

            “They wanted him to fight his own pack?”

            “We weren’t his pack yet.  He was still human, and he hadn’t joined the pack yet, but we were his friends.  He wouldn’t help them fight us, and they weren’t very happy about that.”

            “They tried to make him?”

            Derek nods. 

“They did some awful, awful stuff to try and make him join their side, but they couldn’t break him,” Derek tells him, struggling to push away the horrendous thoughts of all that was done to try and break Stiles.

“No matter what they did, he wouldn’t go against his friends.  He’s one of the strongest people you’re ever going to know, and you should understand that,” Derek goes on.  “Even though he still has the nightmares and the seizures and he switches to Damon and has bad days like this where he gets so afraid, it’s not because he was weak.  It’s because he fought them as hard as he could every step of the way, and they couldn’t _ever_ get him to turn on us.”

            “So then how comes he’s like he’s been today? All scared and obedient and all that?”

            “When they realized they couldn’t break him, they blocked all Stiles’ memories.  Every single one—from the time he was born until the time he was kidnapped—and when there was nothing of Stiles really left they taught him to act like he does.”

            “So that’s where Damon came from?   They made Stiles into Damon?”

            “Kind of.”

            “Kind of?”

            “Stiles has—it’s called dissociative identity disorder.”

            “That’s what Isaac meant when he said Stiles was sick.”

            “Yeah, and it happens because the stuff Stiles went through when he was with those Alphas was too much for his mind to handle.  It separated most of the bad into Damon so that Stiles can have most of the good. Does that make sense? A little?”

            “Yeah, I guess,” Collin replies with a shrug.  “So Damon is Stiles, too, he just doesn’t know it?”

            “Something like that.”

            “Is he ever gonna go back to being _just_ Stiles?”

            “Maybe one day, but—it’s really complicated.  For now we just have to try to love every version of him.”

“I know, but he’s just scared of me, and—I dunno.  I don’t like it.”

“I know the feeling,” Derek confides.  “It’s awful, but—it’s—it’s an opportunity.”

“Opportunity for what?”

“He can be much more scared of you than others, but that also gives you the power to make him feel more at peace than others.”

“Huh?”

“He likes making Addie happy, but Addie’s just a beta, one lower than Damon.  You’re Alpha-Elect; if he helps you somehow, it’s an even greater service to the pack.  It doesn’t mean that he loves Addie less or that he loves you more than her or anything; he just _always_ sees the rank, even when he tries to downplay it.  You’ll have to learn to be careful, but you can also learn to help.”

            “I didn’t mean to scare him like that.  I was just going to try to figure out why he was scared of me so I could be nicer or something.  Then he got all worried and weird and it freaked me out and I—I didn’t mean for it to—to go like it did.  I’m so sorry I did that to him.  I just—”

            “Hey, you don’t have anything to be sorry for,” Derek says earnestly.  “ _Nothing_. You understand?”

            “I wanted to help him, but I—it was just—it was like he thought I was going to hurt him.  I haven’t been anything but nice, right? I know I scared him this morning, but I’ve been trying to stay chill and not startle him anymore, but all I did was pick a fight that left him—he was bad when we left Derek. Did you see? He was really bad.”

            “Isaac was there; Isaac knows how to help him.”

            “It’s supposed to be his birthday.  I didn’t mean to mess up his birthday.  _Twice._ ”

            “Collin, it is not your fault.  It’s hard trying to adjust to Damon; it’s hard to see him when he gets so overwhelmed like that,” Derek admits.  “I know.  I’ve known him a lot longer than you and handling it all is still hard for me, too.”

            “Yeah?”

            “Yeah.”

            “So how’d you get good at helping him instead of scaring him?”

            “Time,” Derek replies honestly.  “And I talk to Stiles about it once he’s back to us.  He can tell us what helps sometimes; that’s where a lot of what we do to help Damon comes from.”

            Collin nods, no doubt trying to process all this incredibly convoluted information.

            “You better go back and help Isaac with Addie and Damon and all,” he says.  “I’m okay. I’ll wait until I’m totally chill to come back. Swear.”

            It’s a dismissal, and Derek respects that.

            “You sure you’re okay?”

            “I kinda wanna take a few laps, ya know?”

            “Yeah, I get it.  Stay in earshot,” Derek instructs.

            “I know.”

           

******************************************************************

 

            “Why’d you give him a shot?” Addie cries.  “Shots hurt, Isaac! That’s mean!”

            “It’s medicine.  It’ll help him calm down.  It’s not mean. I promise.”

            As Damon quiets and relaxes under the effect, Isaac positions him back on the bed, tucking him in.  Addie watches with watery eyes, small face pinched in worry. 

            _You shouldn’t have to see this.  You shouldn’t watch this.  What were we thinking not getting another packmate here with Damon?_

“He’s just going to sleep a little while with the medicine.  It’ll help make the voices be quiet.”

            “Will Luna help the voices be quiet? I can share.  I don’t need her ‘til tonight.  Me and Collin could sleep in here.  I’m little; I can squeeze on the bed.”

            “Come here, sweet girl,” Isaac says, scooping her up; she holds on tightly to him, but her face stays turned toward Damon.  “The medicine will be enough.”

            “Wait,” she says when Isaac starts to walk toward the door.  “What if he has a bad dream?”

            “He won’t, honey.  I promise.”

            “Are you _sure_?”

            “I’m sure.”

            “I wanna give him Luna,” she persists.  “Just in case.”

            “Okay,” Isaac concedes, battling tears at such genuine concern from the child.

            _You’re not supposed to have to worry about us. We’re supposed to look out for you.  We should be protecting you from this._

_God, I’m so sorry we can’t protect you from all this.  You’re going to grow up faster than you should trying to understand how to take care of men who should be your parents.  You’re already more brave and compassionate than any four-year-old should have to be._

_How did we think bringing you here was fair to you? It’s not fair to you.  We have to do better.  We have to be better.  We have to figure out how to put you and Collin first, and as out of the line of fire as we can._

 

 

******************************************************************

 

            “Damon, can you hear me?” Derek’s voice wonders.

            He opens his eyes slowly, lethargy lingering in his system.  He pushes himself to sitting though, studying Derek’s face for the anger that’s sure to come.

            “You’re not in _any_ trouble,” Derek says. 

            “I was bad, Derek. I keep upsetting the children.  I—”

            “You’re adjusting,” Derek says.  “They are, too.   It’s going to be a bumpy transition, but that’s not anyone’s fault.  That’s just what it takes to figure everything out now the dynamics are a little different.  You’ll learn how to interact with them, and they’ll learn how to interact with you.  I don’t expect you to be perfect with them.  You’re trying.  I know you are.”

            “Thank you, Derek,” Damon answers, dumbfounded at the grace so easily given.  He smiles.  “I told them you were always good,” he says.  “The bad alphas.  I told them no matter what happens you’re so good Derek.”

            _I do try to argue against them; they’re just so loud.  You always prove me right though.  Thank you so much for always proving me right._

            “I try,” Derek says modestly.

            “You’re the _best_ alpha, Derek.”

            “Helps to have damn good betas like you.”

            “Swear jar,” Collin says from the doorway, pulling Damon’s attention.

            Collin’s got a smirk on his face, but it fades as he continues to look at Damon.  His expression is completely somber the next time he speaks.

            “I didn’t mean to scare you today,” Collin says.  “I don’t want you to be scared of me, not ever, not even though I’m gonna be Alpha one day.”  Damon bites at his lips like he doesn’t know what to say to that.  “So if you could—could try to treat me like any other beta? And I mean, even when I am Alpha, I’ll be one like Derek so you don’t have to be scared then either.”

            _He wants to be like Derek.  He wants to be good to the pack, too.  He’ll try to be patient like Derek and modest like Derek and understanding like Derek?  I hope so.  How wonderful would it be to have two Alphas in a row so good to their betas!  I should know Derek would pick an Alpha-Elect who would treat the pack well._

            Damon smiles, small and shy and nods.  “Okay.”

            “It’s just about time for people start getting here for the party,” Collin says.  “You want to come help me and Derek set up chairs?”

            _I didn’t ruin the party? I’m not going to be punished.  I get to have a birthday.  The pack will all be here._

_Is it possible to be this happy and not burst with it?_

_I’m the luckiest beta in the world._

“Yes, of course,” Damon agrees readily, getting up from the bed.   

            “Awesome. Come on.”

           

 

******************************************************************

 

 

            “Lydia, this is all perfect,” Derek says as he takes in the wonderful, joyous ruckus in the back yard.

            “Of course it is,” she replies.  “Did you forget who planned it?”

            There’s a giant blow-up slide in the lawn, and honestly the adults seem to love it even more than the kids.  The small white tent to the side of it is home to an array of popcorn and cotton candy.  The sheriff’s grilling hotdogs and hamburgers and they smell absolutely delicious while he chats with Melissa.  They’ve already held a three-legged race and sack race.   Lydia’s got “pin the tail on the werewolf” and a dunking booth set up for later. 

Derek had worried it would all overwhelm Damon, but he made sure to assign Damon the task of “bond with your packmates” for the evening.  It seems to be enough to keep him convinced he’s being useful—like playing with Addie and Collin is useful.  Every so often he looks for Derek, like he’s checking that he understood correctly, and Derek’s sure to beam at him, drinking in the elation on Damon’s face as he slides with Addie, and wins the race with Collin, and gobbles popcorn with Isaac and Scott.  Derek participates here and there, but he avoids the races so Damon has a chance to let himself win.  He avoids taking on any tasks himself so Damon won’t offer to take over.  It’s only Addie’s cry from the top of the slide that starts to break his resolve to keep a distance.

“Derek, come play!” she yells. 

“Dewek!” Logan agrees. 

“Yeah, Dewek!” Scott mimics with a smile.  “Come on.  Lydia, you too, lose the heels for five seconds of your life.”

Lydia heaves a sigh.  “Who needs dignity anyway, right?” she wonders, grabbing Derek’s arm to tug him behind her and earning a triumphant cheer from everyone by the slide. 

Derek’s looking at Damon though, hoping the move doesn’t ruin the moment, but Damon’s cheering with the rest of them, grinning widely as he and Allison come down the slide together.

“Having fun?” Derek asks.

“It’s perfect, Derek,” Damon answers breathlessly.   “It’s all perfect,” he repeats as Scott, Logan, and Addie come giggling down the slide next.   

The words are more than enough, but when Damon moves forward to wrap his arms around Derek, the easy, relaxed kind of embrace he’s never quite managed before, the moment really does become perfect. 

 


	6. Chapter 5

            “Damon? You okay?” Cora wonders.

            Stiles looks up from the cup of coffee in his hands.  He struggles to get his bearings as the events of the past few—

_Shit. Over a month? Really?_

“Damon?” she asks again, more sharply.  “Whatever they’re saying to you isn’t—”

“Stiles,” he tells her.  “It’s not voices, just adjusting. I’m Stiles.”

“Oh.  Hey, then. I guess.”

“Hey.”

“You’re gonna wanna put some sugar in that coffee,” she tells him.

Damon drinks his coffee black, and he eats Cheerios not Lucky Charms.  Stiles never ceases to be surprised at the differing preferences, or how well the others have learned them.  Cora’s quiet as he moves automatically to add sugar and tons of cream to his mug, giving him time to process the newest chapters of Damon Time inserted in his memories.

“You really moved in?” he asks.  “I figured it’d be a cold day in hell before—”

“Didn’t do it for you,” she replies shortly.

Stiles knows; she did it for Damon—of course she did—because she’s told Damon on multiple occasions that he reminds her of Ty, a beta in the last pack she joined.  When she’d had as much of the shitty Alpha as she could take, Cora decided to try things alone.  She wanted Ty to leave with her, but he was too afraid. She left without Ty, but she never forgot him.  She’s started looking for him now she’s “got her shit together.” Stiles helps her follow leads sometimes when she needs some backup.  The problem is that no one seems to know what happened to that pack; all they’ve got to go on are rumors: hunters, mutiny, merges, or sickness.  It’s been nothing but dead ends so far.

“No offense or anything,” Cora says.   “Just—it wrecked Damon to think he could upset the balance.  He’s got enough to worry about without that too.  It was temporary.  I’ll get my me-time now you’re back.”

“On the way to Boise?” Stiles supposes, pulling from the Damon memories sifting through his mind. 

Cora shrugs.  “I’m due for a road trip anyway.”

“How’d Ty end up in Idaho if the pack was down—”

“I don’t fucking know, Stiles, but I have to check,” she interrupts wearily.  “You know that.”

“I hope he’s there.”

She’s quiet, studying him to see if he’s teasing her.  She should know better by now.  Stiles really does hope she manages to save Ty one day—if he’s still alive and stuck under some shitty Alpha someplace—for Ty’s sake and for Cora’s; Stiles doesn’t know which would be worse: the pain of being left behind or the guilt of walking away. 

“Me too,” Cora says finally. 

 

***************************************************************

 

Isaac gets the news of Stiles’ return via text during his first lecture of the day.  As glad as he is to know Stiles is home, he knows the discussion that’s likely waiting sometime soon.   His last class ends at one, so he asks the sheriff to keep Addie a little later than usual and heads straight home.  There’s no point in putting this off. 

Cora’s Mustang isn’t in the drive anymore, but the Camaro is. 

            _Good.  We should all three weigh in on this._

“Hey ya, hot stuff,” Stiles greets with a smile when Isaac walks in the den; his face falls almost immediately though.  “What’s wrong? What—”

            “Nothing.”

            “You look like someone shot your puppy.”

            “I just—we have to talk about it; you know we do,” Isaac says with a shrug.   

            “Talk about what?”

            “ _Stiles_.”

            “It can wait; he just got back,” Derek says.  “We—”

            “We have two kids who don’t need to hear the argument that’s about to happen.”

            “You don’t know that it’ll be an argument,” Derek reasons.

            “No?” Isaac asks with a look to Stiles.  “Stiles?”

            “Hey, you haven’t bothered asking my opinion before.  Why start now?” Stiles replies, bitter tone prevalent despite the forced smile on his face; it’s the venom Isaac expected, but it still fills him with dread.

            _I want to help you.  I know that you don’t want the help; I know that you don’t want to face so much of this.  We’ve got our whole lives ahead of us.  A lifetime is too long to ignore the problem staring us all in the face.  Let me at least try to lighten the load a little._

“Asking before?” Derek replies.  “About what?”

            “Come on; if his professor knows I could make a good thesis topic, he’s been talking to him—if not all of them—about me already.”

            “Tons of people know you have DID,” Derek reminds.

            “But I did talk to them about you,” Isaac admits, “but not like—I’m a psych major for chrissake.  It was bound to come up eventually, and you knew I chose it for that term paper last year.  Everything they know about you stemmed from generic talks.  I didn’t—you never seemed to mind too much. You never said anything.”

            “Yeah, well, you were always looking objectively at the disorder, not _me._ ”

            “If you don’t want me to—”

            “I didn’t say that. I just—I can’t even hold shit together now, much less if you start picking me apart.  I can’t control what Damon tells you.  I—”

            “Damon _is_ you, Stiles.”

            “No, he’s not. Don’t start that shit with me.”

            “It’s true,” Isaac persists.  “He’s not a fucking demon who possesses you; he’s _you._ A different version, but still you.  _Some_ part of you wants to understand what’s going on in your mind.  Maybe it’s time to—”

            “No.”

            “Stiles, please just—”

            “I said ‘no.’ If Damon wants to talk to you, I can’t stop him, but I’m not doing this.  I’m not picking at the scab, okay? I’m just not.”

            It’s the stalemate that’s been ongoing for years now.  Stiles has resisted delving into his DID problems from the start.  Damon’s offer is the first sign at all that there may be a weakening of the usual adamant opposition. 

            “Offer stands, as always,” Stiles reminds, “but I’m not talking this out with you any more than Morrell.”

            “The Offer” was Stiles’ attempt to be fair to Derek and Isaac.  He claims at any point they can deem the DID and PTSD too much to handle and Stiles will go.  Isaac’s pretty sure Stiles couldn’t really just walk away, but he’s never been cruel enough to call Stiles on it.  Besides, while Stiles may find the strength to walk away, Isaac knows he could never find the resolve to watch him go.  He loves Stiles too much, broken bits and all. 

            “I’m just trying to help; you get that, don’t you?” Isaac wonders.  “I’m not—this isn’t—”

            “I know you won’t make me some circus freak case study,” Stiles replies.  “It’s fine, Isaac.  Do what you want.  You’re fucking brilliant.  If my bullshit helps you get a higher degree—that you totally deserve, by the way—then more power to you and anyone else who wants to help.  I’m not interested.  I don’t want to hear about it.  I’m not contributing.”

            “I’m not sure—I mean you’re the base of it all Stiles.  Without your perspective—”

            “You really want to study DID? Or is this just a way to get me talking about all of it?”

            “You think I’m manipulating the situation?”

            Stiles shrugs, but it might as well have been a “yes.”

            “You’re unbelievable,” Isaac says.  “Four years, Stiles.  _Years._ I have fucking stood by you and tried my damnedest not to push this, even though I _know_ what you need is to try and sort through the—”

            “Don’t tell me what I need!” Stiles retorts, rising to his feet.  “You don’t know _shit_ about what’s in my head.  You have _no fucking way_ to comprehend—”

            “Because you don’t want to talk about it! You shut us out! You say you don’t need this, but all the DID does is get worse! Damon comes more and more often—Wretch too.  How long until more personalities present? What if one of them becomes the dominant personality? There’re a million different things that could spin out of control if you don’t do _something_ proactive.  You can’t just let this go on forever!”

            “Oh yeah? Watch me,” Stiles challenges, turning on his heel and heading down the hall. 

He slams the bedroom door behind him so hard that a picture falls off the wall, judging by the sound of shattering glass.     

Isaac stares across the room at Derek, silence growing until Isaac spits, “Thanks a lot for the back up.”

“What d’you want me to say?” Derek asks wearily.  “We’ve had a billion different versions of this argument before.  I’m not picking sides; I just—I don’t—”

“You don’t want us fighting and you don’t fucking like to talk things out anyway,” Isaac finishes for him, regretting the words instantly with the look of hurt that crosses Derek’s face.  “I didn’t—I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine,” Derek says, even though it’s not.

He reaches a hand out, and Isaac takes it.  He plops back onto the sofa beside Derek as the weariness of this never-ending fight settles down in his bones the way it always does.

_We just fight about it.  We never seem to make progress.  We just get pissed and go back to the way things have always been._

_But we can’t do this forever._

 

*****************************************************

 

 

            Stiles begins to clean up the bits of glass from the broken frame, glad for a task to distract from the fury still boiling inside him.  He freezes when he realizes which picture it was that fell: it’s his favorite wedding photo—all three of their favorite—a moment during the chaotic cake fight that was just one bit of that perfect day.  Some days it seems that reception was a lifetime ago.

            _We were so happy—fucking blissed out beyond belief—and so fucking sure that everything was going to keep getting better.  But then everything with Isaac, and the kidnapping, and now the DID._

_This isn’t the life we signed up for; this isn’t the marriage we thought we were getting._

_But it’s not like we signed on for a fairy tale either.  We knew it wasn’t going to be easy.  They’ve said over and over again they’d chose this marriage again in a heartbeat.  We belong together; I just wish it wasn’t so fucking hard.  They don’t deserve this exhausting existence._

_Then again all the chaos we’ve sorted through has totally formed us more and more into a family.  It even brought us Addie and Collin._

_Addie and Collin._

Stiles closes his eyes as Damon’s memory of the episode with Collin surfaces with heart-wrenching clarity: Collin’s confusion and frustration, Addie’s frightened worry after, waking to find Cora here trying to help Isaac and Derek calm the children and Damon and help everyone adjust and move forward.

            _They shouldn’t have to go through this shit; they’re too young.  This is why I said we shouldn’t have kids.  They deserve better._

Stiles rises to his feet, heading for the bedroom door before he even fully decides what he’s going to say.   When he opens it, Isaac stands on the other side, arm raised as though he was just about to knock. 

            “Stiles, I’m not trying to—”

            “You want to help,” Stiles interrupts.  “I know.”

            “A Master’s thesis isn’t worth—”

            “I’ll help,” Stiles tells him, blurting the offer before he can convince himself otherwise. 

            “What?” Isaac asks, mouth falling open in surprise.

            “I’m not—we’re not sharing or caring or any of that shit.  I don’t want therapy sessions or story time. That’s not what I mean when I say ‘help’.  But—if—if Damon tells you things that don’t make sense, I’ll _maybe_ like clarify or something?  Or if you need facts, just little, simple facts, like whether or not I have a memory of a certain event or what the hell ever, I’ll probably be fine to answer that kind of thing.”

            “I—yeah—deal. Definitely a deal—that’s—that would be great.  That would help.  Anything you’re okay with—”

            “Don’t get all excited and shit,” Stiles says moodily, though he knows full well Isaac and Derek are probably ecstatic to have him offer up _any_ sort of compromise on this topic.  “I just—I can tell Addie those pictures on the fridge are perfect and try to have a chat with Collin.  It seems like—like this last change was hard on him.  He worked to figure out the best way to handle Damon.  I can try to minimize the damage from the DID issues they have to deal with, but I can’t—I can’t make it go away.  They deserve better than having to worry about this kind of shit at their ages.  So if Damon thinks—if he can talk to you even though I can’t then—then maybe the least I can do it throw in a little here or there when I can mange it.”

            _Maybe I can’t manage to fix it all, but they deserve better; I can try to do that for them, try to get a little better even if I can’t get well completely._

 

*********************************

 

            “Stiles?!” Addie calls through the house.

            Tension Derek didn’t realize he was holding releases at the sound of her eager voice.  She’s so attached to Damon that Derek couldn’t help wondering if she would be a little disappointed to have Stiles back. 

            “Hey, Addie!  You have fun at Pop’s?” Stiles greets, coming from the kitchen.

            He’s making hot dogs and macaroni for dinner, and the brownie-oreo dirt thing with the gummy worms for dessert.  It’s an apology in food form, but neither Derek nor Isaac called Stiles on it.  It’s sweet, and it’ll hopefully put a good start to an evening likely to be filled with lots of questions.

            “Uh-huh.  We made peanut butter cookies before we picked up Collin.”

            “Where is Collin?” Isaac asks.

            “Outside with Pop.  He brought home that big space thingy today.”

            Collin worked hard on his “space thingy” which is a model of the solar system.  He even let Addie paint a few parts of it—with Damon’s supervision.  Derek glances out the window to watch them carry it in, mood falling when he sees Collin’s glum face.

            _His teacher had to see how much work he put into it.  Surely she didn’t give him that horrible a grade._

“Did you see your picture?” Addie asks, referring to her interpretation of Noah’s Ark and all the animals on it, which naturally included puppies, kittens, a unicorn, and a elephant that looks like a seal.

            “I did; it’s beautiful.”

            “I did it all by myself.”

            “No way,” Stiles scoffs.

            “Yep! Did too!”

            “That’s awesome! You keep up this hard work we just might have to make you a full art station in your room.”

            “One with paint?”

            “We’ll see.”

“Future Astronaut coming through,” the sheriff announces as he and Collin enter, each carrying an end of the long wooden base for the model.

            “ _Pop_ ,” Collin says, rolling his eyes.  “Am not.  It’s just a dumb model.”

            “That you got an A+ on, kiddo.  You should be proud of yourself.”

            “A+? That’s awesome!” Stiles praises.

            “Thanks,” Collin says distractedly, studying Stiles with an expression Derek can’t read.  “So you’re—uh—Stiles again, right? That’s what Pop said.”

            “Yeah, that’s right.”

            “Awesome,” Collin says with a weak grin.

            “Collin, I know—”

            “Hey, do I have time to go for a run before dinner?” Collin wonders, looking to Derek.

“It’ll be ready in just a few minutes,” Stiles says, “but I can keep it warm if—”

 “You can start without me; no big deal. I’m not really that hungry.”

“It’s macaroni and hotdogs,” Isaac informs. 

“Yay!” Addie cries.  “Will you cut mine like an oct’pus again, Damon?”

“Stiles,” Collin corrects quietly. “He’s Stiles now.”

“Oh, yeah,” she replies, failing to notice the growing look of unease on her brother’s face.   “Stiles, d’you know how to cut it like and oct’pus?”

“Sure do.”

“Start without me,” Collin says again, heading for the door.  “I’m not hungry.”

_Shit.  Follow or give him space?_

            “Derek, maybe you should go with him,” Isaac suggests.

            “I’ll give him a few minutes to himself,” Derek replies.  “If he’s not back in ten or fifteen minutes I’ll go catch up with him.  He knows to stay close.”

 

***************************

 

            Addie helps set the table, chattering on about her trip to the hardware store with Dad.  Stiles can’t help smiling at her, wondering how she manages to be such a little ray of sunshine.   His mind is really with Collin though, hoping the run helps to settle the boy.  Stiles isn’t sure what’s going through Collin’s mind, but he’s got no doubt it’s something to do with the Damon to Stiles transition.

            _Are you sorry Damon’s gone? Just thrown by the change? Relieved you don’t have to tiptoe around me? What’s up? Talk to me—to all three of us.  Let us try to help you understand._

Then again, Stiles doesn’t even understand, not really.  He’s not sure how to answer the questions Collin may have; he’s not sure if he can handle it even if he knows what to say.

            _Maybe Isaac should—_

            _No, Isaac shouldn’t have to tend to messes I made.  I’ll talk to him—or try any way.  He deserves to talk to the half-sane version of me at least, especially after he tried so hard to learn to handle Damon._

They’ve just started eating when Collin comes in the back door.

            “Good run?” Isaac wonders.

            “Yep.”

            “Hungry?”

            Collin shrugs, but Derek nods to the filled plate in Collin’s empty spot. 

“Take a few bites at least,” he instructs.    

Collin obliges, taking a couple bites of macaroni before he just pushes it around on his plate a little.   Guilt churns in Stiles’ stomach to the point that he’s losing his own appetite. 

_I’m so fucking sorry; this is my fault.  I’m the one putting you through this shit.  I wish I knew how to make it easier for you._

“Can I be excused?” Collin requests after another minute or two of staring down at his plate.

“You don’t want dessert?” Isaac asks.  “Stiles made mud-pie brownies.”

“I’ve got homework and stuff,” Collin says. 

“You’re excused; we’ll stick your plate in the fridge. If your appetite comes back in a little while, you can warm it up, okay?”

“Uh-huh.  I’m gonna do my homework in the tree house,” he informs, grabbing his backpack and heading out the door.

Stiles rises to his feet as the screen door slams behind Collin.

“I think I should talk to him,” Stiles says.

“Are you sure you’re stable enough to—”

“I’m never sure I’m stable,” Stiles replies,  “but I should at least try.” 

_The kid usually consumes nearly a pan of macaroni by himself.  Two bites and he’s done? He worked like hell on that model, and then no bragging about the A+?  It’s not just a little worry this time; it’s anxiety to the point of distraction.  That’s not okay.  I can’t just wait it out and hope he sorts through it.  I have to do something._

“Just—uh—keep an ear out,” Stiles requests, heading for the backdoor. 

_Please don’t let this trigger anything.  Please, please, please._

He treks out to the tree house.  Collin peers out the window as Stiles approaches. 

“I’m fine,” Collin informs him.

“I’m not,” Stiles replies.

“What?”

“I’m not fine,” Stiles repeats.  “Watching me switch back and forth from Damon to Stiles is bothering you somehow.  I don’t like it; I don’t want you to have to worry about it.  It’s not fine; it’s messed up.”

“It’s not your fault,” Collin says.

“I’m not Damon,” Stiles replies.  “You don’t have to be careful with me.”

“Do too.”

“Oh?”

“I don’t want to—what if—maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as Damon, but what if—I could trigger Damon back or something and you _just_ got back,” Collin confesses, biting at his lip.

“I just want to talk a little bit.  We’ve had arguments before; I can handle it.  You don’t need to treat me like Damon.”

“But you _are_ Damon, right? Kind of? So that means he’s kind of listening.”

It’s a good point, even if it’s not entirely accurate.  Stiles wonders for the millionth time how he’s supposed to explain something that he can’t even grasp himself.

“I guess maybe kind of,” Stiles says, “but Damon doesn’t know anything that happens while I’m here.  He doesn’t have access to these memories. Even if you were to upset me—him—whatever, he wouldn’t remember the conversation or why he was here.  You don’t need to protect him right now, and I don’t want you to protect me.  It’s my job to look out for you, kiddo, and I’m sorry I can’t do it all the time.”

Collin shrugs.  “It’s not so bad.”

“Can we talk about it? I’d like to hear whatever you want to say or ask or anything.”

“You’re sure it’s okay?”

“Promise its okay,” Stiles says. 

_Please let them stay buried; don’t make me a liar._

“So can I come up?”

There’s a long pause before Collin nods agreement.  He still seems to be thinking of what to say or ask when Stiles climbs up into the house.  Stiles waits for him to find what he wants to say.

“Derek said those Alphas that took you made you Damon,” Collin begins finally, “and that you have a thing called DID and it makes Damon come back sometimes.”

Stiles nods.  “Yeah, that’s a good way to think about it.”

“I knew—I saw you switch before, the day we came, but Damon stayed a long time this time.  It was—weird.”

“You worked really hard to be good to Damon,” Stiles praises.   “It was a really nice thing to do for him.  I bet he really appreciated it—Derek and Isaac too.”

“You get his memories even though he doesn’t get yours?”

“Yeah.”

“Weird,” Collin says.  “I mean—not—like it’s just—”

“No, I’m with you on that one,” Stiles assures.  “It’s weird how it works.  It confuses the heck out of all of us.”

Collin nods.  “So—how long do you stay now? Do you stay for longer or less since Damon was here so long?”

 “I’m not sure.”

“You really can’t control it at all?”

“Nope.”

“Oh. So you could—you could go away any time?”

“Collin, I don’t want you worrying about bringing Damon out.  There’s certain stuff that helps keep it from happening, we’ve told you the words and things, but sometimes it just happens and you can’t control it either.  It’s not your job to try and keep me here.”

“But I want _you_ to stay.”

Stiles fights tears at the statement. 

_You shouldn’t have to worry about losing me or protecting me or any of this.  Isaac’s right.  I have to be proactive.  I just—I don’t think I can do it.  I’m so fucking sorry I can’t face my shit for you—not yet.  Damon’ll try.  Maybe he’s the one you should want around after all._

“I’m sorry I can’t be around more.”

“The Alphas that took you. You all told us they’re dead now,” Collin says.  “Are they really?”

            “Yes.”

            “‘Cause Isaac told us they hurt you, but not how bad they hurt you.  I’m not a little kid like Addie.  I want to know stuff. I want to help with it.  So if you just told us that so we wouldn’t be scared, I want to know the truth, not—”

            “They’re all dead,” Stiles assures.  “The pack took care of it.  They won’t ever hurt anyone ever again.”

            “Oh. Good.”

Stiles nods agreement.  “Yeah.”

Collin’s quiet a moment more before he breaks the silence with, “Derek said you were still human when the Alphas took you.”

            He’s keeping his tone light, but he’s watching closely for the reaction.  Stiles is careful to keep his face neutral wondering where this is headed or if Collin’s just voicing curiosities as they come to mind.

            “That’s right.”

            “So they turned you without asking or anything?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Do you—d’you wish you were still human?”

            “Sometimes,” he answers honestly, “but being a werewolf’s pretty cool, too.”

            Collin nods. 

            “How long were you there before the pack rescued you?”

            “Four months,” Stiles answers, not revealing he was never technically rescued.

            Collin’s eyes go wide at the answer.  “That’s a really long time.”

            “Yeah, it was, but it was a long time ago too,” Stiles replies.

            “My Uncle Jake got taken by hunters once,” Collin shares.  “They had him for two whole days before my Dad and Uncle William and Aunt Carla found them.  He—he used to have these nightmares all the time, kinda like you do, but they got better after a while.”

            “Mine get better, too.  You’ll see. They get farther and farther apart. Like yours and Addie’s have.”

            “They only had him two days, and he—” Collin doesn’t finish the sentence, just continues, “They had you four whole months?”

            “It was a long time ago,” Stiles reminds again.

            “Is that why it’s not just nightmares? Cause they had you so long? And they took away all the memories?”

            “That’s definitely part of it.”

            “So it should get better then? Like the nightmares, just it’ll take longer since it was months and not days.”

            The hopeful tone in Collin’s assumption puts an ache in Stiles chest.

            “Maybe.”

            “Maybe?”

            “DID is—it’s different than just nightmares.  There’s a lot of stuff—it’s just really complicated.  I wish you didn’t have to see me—”

            “It’s okay,” Collin interrupts.  “I just—I didn’t know what to do. It’s not that I mind Damon; he’s nice, just—he was scared of me, like _really_ scared like I could hurt him—but I’m not even in middle school yet, and you’re—you’re my d—you look out for me and stuff.  So it was weird ‘cause he’s Damon but he’s you and—it’s kind of confusing I guess.”

            “It’s _really_ confusing,” Stiles agrees.  “I’m very proud of how well you handled everything.”

            “But I didn’t handle it.  I scared him, and then he stayed kind of scared of me.  I did stuff like Derek and Isaac said, but—I dunno—I just didn’t know what to do to help or how to make Damon not so afraid.”

            “Collin, it’s okay.”

            “I’ll do better next time.  I think I figured out what to do mostly.”

            “It’s not your job to—”

            “I wanna help next time,” he repeats insistently, “and it _is_ my job.  Damon’s right.  I’m gonna be Alpha one day. I have to—”

            “Hey,” Stiles interrupts sharply.  “Your only job right now, is to be a kid.  You’ll be the Alpha one day, but not now.  Right now it’s okay to be anxious and uncomfortable and scared and just be a kid. Not even Derek knows how to handle everything.  It’s okay to be unsure sometimes.”

            “I don’t want to be unsure. I want to help.”

            “Collin—”

            “So tell me what I should do.”

            “Collin—”

            “ _Please_ , Stiles.  Derek said he got better at helping ‘cause he talks to you when you’re the one here.  I want you to tell me what I should do next time.”

            Stiles runs a hand down his face then, closing his eyes to fight tears of shame and frustration.

            _You’re ten.  You don’t need to figure out how to take care of me.  You should be figuring out how to better your baseball game or build your next model set or beat a video game.  You shouldn’t feel responsible for me._

“Stiles, please don’t be mad,” Collin pleads quietly.   “I know you don’t like talking about Damon, but I just wanted—” 

            “I’m not mad, Collin.  Don’t think that.  I promise I’m not mad at all.  We’ll talk about Damon as much as you want,” Stiles swears, “if I can’t, then I’ll be honest and tell you that, but I’ll never get mad at you for trying to understand.  There’s nothing wrong with wanting to understand. It’s the right things to do—it’s just—you’re too young to be worrying about—”

            “I’m not a little kid.”

            “No,” Stiles agrees, “but you’re still _my_ kid, and I’m going to—”

            Before Stiles can finish the sentimental sentence, Collin all but tackles him with a hug.  Stiles hugs back automatically despite his confusion.

            “Just always come back, okay? Come back and treat me like a kid?”

            “Always,” Stiles promises, even though he knows he hasn’t fully got the power to keep the vow.  “Even when you’re fifty.”

            “ _Stiles_.”

 “And look, when Damon’s here, it’s—the only thing I knew after the alphas took the memories was pain and anger, okay? So that’s all Damon knows except our pack stuff.  So if you’re nice and your patient and help him stay busy to keep his mind off worrying that’s all it takes.  Ask Derek and Isaac if you’re not sure about something, but really anything is okay. You did an incredible job last time.  And know that if Damon freaks out, it’s just something that happens; it’s not your fault.  It’s the Alphas’ who took me that did it, okay? You’re trying to help.”  When Collin doesn’t respond right away, Stiles teases, “And of course, you can always just join in the tea parties.”

            “ _Stiles_ ,” Collin groans with a roll of his eyes that reminds Stiles so much of Derek it’s uncanny.

            “Hey, Damon is _awesome_ at tea parties, and Addie will stand by that,” he says, enjoying the smile now growing on Collin’s face.  “I bet he’d even let you wear the green boa.”

 

********************************************************************

 

            After a day or two, the kids are settled back into life with Stiles.  Isaac’s glad to see they can handle to transition; he’s just dreading the day they have to meet Wretch.  They haven’t talked much about him to the kids, just that there’s one version of Stiles that’s even more scared than Damon, and Isaac wonders how they could make them better prepared— _if_ they could make them better prepared.

            _Hell, I still have trouble seeing Stiles like that, and I’ve been doing it for years.  Maybe we should plan to send them to Pop’s a while.  Wretch usually doesn’t stay more than a week._

“Isaac, I can practically hear the gears turning in your head,” Stiles says.  “What’s up?”

            “Just—thinking,” Isaac replies; it’s been a full few days, and now’s not the time to bring up Wretch.

            _Is there ever a good time to bring up Wretch?_

“Let’s throw in a movie,” Isaac says.  “We’re overdue for something that isn’t filled with happy, singing woodland creatures.”

            “As if you don’t tear up every time we watch Rise of the Guardians,” Stiles teases.  “Still not as bad as Wreck It Ralph though.”

            “How to Train your Dragon,” Derek puts in.  “Shit got real at the end of that one.”

            “Swear jar,” Isaac teases, and Derek huffs out a laugh.

            “Cora moving in practically doubled the intake on that.  They’re gonna have enough to cash in early this month.”

            “I still can’t believe she actually moved in,” Stiles says.  “From the memories I got she didn’t seem to totally hate it.”

            “She didn’t,” Derek confirms.  “I know she says she likes her own space or whatever, but I think—I think being here reminds her of before the fire, which is kinda awesome but kinda—you know…”

            “Salt on the wound sometimes?” Stiles finished for him.

            “Yeah.”

            “Well, I definitely owe her one.”

            “No, you don’t.  It’s how pack works, dude.  You save her ass when she’s stuck with computer programming; she helps out with Damon.   It’s all give and take.  You know as well as we do she wouldn’t have come if she _really_ didn’t want to,” Isaac says.

            “True,” Stiles agrees, but there’s still an underlying guilt in his words that Isaac can’t stand.

            _You’re not a goddamn burden.  I know that you can’t help feeling that way, but we don’t mind helping you, Stiles.  Hell, maybe you’re finally going to help yourself a little more too if Damon really starts talking.  Regardless, you know you’d do the same things for us we do for you if the situation was different._

Isaac knows pushing it isn’t going to help, not really.  Stiles will insist he’s fine as he always does.  Instead he settles in a little closer to Stiles on the couch, leaning back into him as Stiles leans into Derek.  Stiles relaxes as they devolve into a tangle of limbs, drifting to sleep before the movie ends.  Isaac’s happy to see Stiles’ face lax in sleep, not strained with troubling dreams.  It’s not long before he falls asleep too, waking to Derek’s kiss on his forehead bidding them come to bed.

 

***************************************************************

 

            Derek comes in from his run to find Stiles, Isaac, and Addie battling it out at the dinner table.

            “No! I don’t wanna eat them,” Addie moans.  “They’re yucky! Peas suck!”

            “We do not say ‘suck’,” Stiles scolds.  “Now, three bites before you can leave the table.  You heard Isaac.”

            “No!”

            “You want to make it four?”

            “Peas suck!”

            “Fine, then.  You’re up to four bites, and the Despicable Me Blu-ray is gone for the week.”

            “I hate you! You’re mean! I wish Damon was here!” she retorts.

            Stiles looks like he’s been slapped, pain flickering across his face before the frustration returns.

            “Adelyn Marie, you will eat those peas if you have to sit there all afternoon,” he informs.  “I’m going to do the dishes while you and Isaac finish up.  If I come back and they’re not eaten, you’re up to five bites. Got it?”

            “You suck!”

            “That’s enough, Addie,” Isaac says.  “Eat your peas.”

            “No!”

            Derek follows Stiles to the kitchen, leaving Isaac to tend to their stubborn daughter.  He’s not surprised to see Stiles blinking back tears. 

            “She doesn’t mean it,” Derek soothes quietly.

            “She’s four,” Stiles reminds.  “Yes, she does.”

            “Damon’s her friend, not her parent, of course she wants the pushover person when she’s not getting her way.  It doesn’t mean she—”

            “I’m fine,” Stiles interrupts turning to the dishes.  “It’s not a big deal.”

            _Yes, it is.  You’re hurt, and you have a right to be.  Your kid just asserted favoritism for a personality that isn’t you.  It’s not okay, but it’s not like she really understands either._

“She loves you,” Derek says.  “You know she does.  You’re the one she wants to read stories and play—”

            “Stop it; I said I was fine.  I don’t need you to convince me that my daugh—that Addie—”

            “Say it.  Daughter, she’s your daughter,” Derek interjects.  “The fact that she loves Damon too doesn’t change that.  She’s a kid; she wants the person who’ll give her her way.  That’s all.”

            “Yeah,” Stiles agrees distractedly, still avoiding Derek’s gaze and focusing on the dishes.  “I know. I’m fine, like I said. You’re—uh—plate is in the microwave if you want to heat it up.”

 

************************************************

 

             “Hey, Stiles, can you carry me?” Addie requests.  “My feet hurt.”

            They’re nearly back to the house after their afternoon hike. The sun’s shining bright today, and Isaac needed some quiet time to finish up a paper.  Stiles knows perfectly well that Addie’s not tired enough to need carrying; she’s been skipping along  but he scoops her up anyway, tossing her onto his shoulders and relishing the giggle that escapes her.

            “Is Pop still coming to grill for dinner?” Collin wonders. 

            “Thinking about those awesome pork chops?” Stiles supposes.

            “Yeah.”

            “He’ll be here in a couple of hours.  Mimi doesn’t get off until seven, so dinner will be a little later.  We can have a snack when we get home if you want.”

            Melissa turns forty-four today, so naturally they’re having a pack dinner to commemorate the occasion.  She’s got a deep love for Stiles’ Cajun marinated pork chops cooked on the grill, so they’re serving it up for the third year running, along with the German Chocolate cake Stiles made from scratch yesterday.  He bought candles to make a “29” on the cake since she keeps insisting she’s “too young to be a grandmother” despite the two biological and two honorary grandchildren she dotes on. 

            The bliss of the moment is gone with the blink of an eye as the all too familiar twinge of pain spasms at Stiles’ temple.  He sets Addie on the ground in an instant, gritting his teeth against the following twinges, praying they stop but knowing they won’t.

            “Stiles?” Collin says.  “What’s—”

            “Take Addie, and run to the house,” he orders.  “Go to Isaac.  Get him quick, okay? Tell him Wretch is coming.”

            “Who is—”

            “Run!” Stiles orders as the pain consumes every aspect of his existence and the world fades to blinding bright light, deafening screeches, and unbearable agonizing pain.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo yeah :) Thanks to SlitheringAngel for excellent feedback :D 
> 
> Happy New Year from me and [Watson](http://packdontendwithblood.tumblr.com/tagged/my-dear-watson) If it's a little while before you get the next chapter, it's mostly his fault :P


	7. Chapter 6

Isaac’s bolting out of the back door the minute he hears Addie’s cries.  He can’t make them out, but he sees her top the hill in the next moment. Alone.

            _Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God._

He can’t understand whatever she’s wailing.  Tears and snot stream down her face as she sprints toward him as fast as her little legs will carry her.  He scoops her up the moment he reaches her, looking for any signs of injury as he tries to soothe her.

            “Shh, baby, shh. I can’t understand you.  You gotta calm down. What happened? Are you okay? Is somebody hurt?”

            “Stiles!” she sobs.

“Stiles is hurt?”

 “ _Really_ hurt. Fell down and screaming and holding his head—”

            “Addie, where is Collin?”

            “With Stiles,” she answers.  “Isaac, go quick. He’s hurting real bad!”

            Isaac fights the urge to leave her behind and run in the direction she came from. 

            _Deep breaths. Explain. Then you can run._

            “Okay, I’m gonna go to them as fast as I can, okay? I think it’s a seizure.  I need you to go to the house, Addie? Go to the house and call Derek.  Can you do that?”

            “By myself?” she squeaks. “No, Isaac, I—”

            “I’ve got to go help, Stiles; I need you to be brave for me.  I need you to go to the house.”

            “No!” she wails, clinging more tightly.

            “I know, sweetheart. I know it’s scary, but he’ll be okay. Please. _Please_ go to the house.  Call Derek.  Stiles will be okay, but he’ll be confused when it stops.”

            “Confused like when he’s Damon?”

            “Kind of but—but maybe not Damon.  He might be confused about where he is, okay? He might think he needs to protect himself, so I need to be there so I can explain it.  You _have_ to go to your room, baby, _please,_ and someone will be there soon.  I promise.”

           

*******************************************************************

 

            He wakes with his head pounding so hard he can barely think.  He tries to open his eyes, but the harsh light brings blinding agony so he shuts them again immediately.  He pulls against the hands wrapped on his arm before he can think better of it.

            “Please, please, no more!” he beseeches, though the sound of his own voice echoes painfully in his ears.   “I’ll be better now.  I’ll be good.  I promise!”

            “It’s okay,” a young voice replies.   “You’re going to be okay.”

            There’s a pull of authority in the voice that causes him to still instantly, not daring to resist. 

_Not an Alpha, too young to be an Alpha, but something.  Alpha’s son? The Alpha to be?_

“What’s your name? Are you—Damon? Is that you?”

            _Name? I don’t have a name; I don’t want one.  Names are for humans.  Wolves need only the pack identity._

            “I know my place; I’m a good beta,” he answers, assuming it’s a simple test of some kind.

            “Are you—Wr—Wretch?”

            _Wretch? Do you mean wretched? Or maybe asking if I’m a wretch?  I don’t understand.  Do you want to know if I learned from the punishment? That I understand I was weak or wrong or bad or whatever I was to deserve this?_

“Yes, I—I was weak, but I’ll be better,” he vows, praying he understood the intent of the words and it’s the right thing to say.  “Whatever the Alpha wants, I’ll improve.  I’ll learn.  I swear I can learn.”

            It’s only then that he takes in the feel of the leaves beneath him.  He’s not in a pack house.  He’s away someplace.   He forces his eyes open against the searing pain of the daylight to see the wooded land surrounding them.  There’s no sign of any other packmates, no sign of an Alpha who dealt the punishment, no sign of anything but emptiness.

            _Why would we be here? What use is there in coming here? No corpse with us to hide.  Nothing worth taking from here—unless—what if—he’s leaving me? He brought me here to leave me because I withstood the punishment poorly? That’s why I have no memory of him or the pack he comes from._

“I can do whatever it takes to earn my place back.  _Please_ believe me,” he implores.  “I want to serve the pack. I know my place. I can—”

            “Stop. Stop it. Noth—nothing’s wrong. Just—just stop begging like that.”

            “Yes, Elect.”

            “What did you call me?”

            “E—elect. You—you’re Alpha to be. I don’t know what else to—”

            “Don’t do that.  My name is Collin.  Just call me Collin.”

            “Yes, Collin, whatever you want.”

            “Collin!” a voice shrieks through the woods.

            He winces at the sound, but rises immediately to stand between Collin and whatever is coming.   In the next moment he sees the lithe, blond beta sprinting toward them.

            _No, not just a beta.  The Second._

_Who do I obey? The Elect or the Second? What do I do? I don’t know. I don’t have this training.  I forgot this training? I don’t know how to be good._

“It’s okay; it’s Isaac,” Collin says.  “He’s not going to hurt me or you or anybody; he’s nice. I promise.”

 

****************************************************

 

            “That’s right,” Isaac confirms, slowing his approach now it’s clear Collin’s safe from harm from Stiles.

            His heart aches when he’s close enough to see the terror in Collin’s eyes.  The boy’s heart is pounding, and there’s tears threatening to spill from his eyes.  If Damon’s submission was hard to encounter, Isaac can’t even imagine how much more overwhelming Stiles transition to the groveling Wretch must be for Collin.

            “It wasn’t a punishment,” Isaac says.  “You were on a walk with the children.  You had a seizure, and sometimes you lose memories when that happens.”

            “I’ll learn it all again. Everything. I promise. I can still be useful I—”

            “We know you’re useful,” Isaac interrupts.  “You’ve been with this pack for several years now.  You always have a place here.”

            “Thank you, Second.”

            “Call me Isaac.  Everyone gets a name in this pack.  We call you Stiles.”

            “Yes, Isaac.”

            “What?” Collin blurts, “but Stiles said—”

            He cuts off the sentence as Isaac glares pointedly.

            _We don’t call him Wretch to his face.  Not that you would know that.  Not that you even know what the Wretch personality is like because we haven’t fucking told you anything.  You just got blind-sided. Fuck. How could we nod address this sooner? How could we take this risk? What the hell is wrong with us?_

“Yeah,” Collin amends.  “We call you Stiles.”

            “Can you stand please?”

            “Yes, Isaac.”

            “Follow us back to the house,” Isaac instructs.  “There’s a younger beta there; don’t be startled by her.  Don’t hurt her, understand?”

            “Yes, Isaac.”

            “And if the Alpha is there, you don’t have to be frightened.  He’s not unhappy with you.  He’s not angry you have the seizures.  You have a place here even if your mind is weak.  You’re a very good beta.”

            “Thank you, Isaac. Thank you.”

 

*********************************************************

           

            The Elect falls into step behind the Second, and Stiles falls into step several paces behind them.  His mind reels as he tries to take in all the information and determine what he needs to do next.

            _Seizures…lose my memories…my mind is weak._

_Why do they keep me? What do I do to be kept? I can’t keep doing it if I can’t remember it; if I can’t do something useful, I’ll be cast out of the pack._

He searches desperately through his mind for memories that might help, but they’re gone, all of them, only the knowledge of how to be good remains, but nothing specific to this pack. 

            _Oh, God. I’ll disappoint even more.  Maybe just lessons though, maybe not punishments.  I don’t have the memories.  I just need someone to teach me, and then I can be better.   I’ll be better.  I’ll make up for the weakness; I’ll earn a spot.  I can. I will. I’ll be better._

He’s so lost in his worry that he barely noticed the large house coming into view.  It only calls his attention now because a young beta is running down the steps of the back porch, heading to meet them.

“Is he okay, Isaac? Stiles, are you—”

            “Addie, I told you to stay in your room,” Isaac interrupts.  “Go back in the house,” he orders.

            “But—”

            “Go. Right now.”

            Though he manages to keep a neutral expression, Stiles cringes inwardly as he takes in just how small this young beta is.  She doesn’t obey, though she does stop moving forward.  There are tears running down her face, no doubt in fear of the punishment to come.

            _So young. So little._

_Too little._

_Too little for this._

_Oh God, what kind of pack am I with? What Alpha keeps betas this small?_

_No, no, not my place to criticize what the Alpha does. Alphas can do as they please. Not my place. Not my place._

She bursts into tears where she stands; Isaac stops and turns back to Stiles.

            _Don’t make me punish her.  Please._

_But I have to be useful.  I have to prove I can do things._

_But she’s so little._

_Oh, God._

“Stand right here, understand?” Isaac asks.  “Don’t move no matter what.”

            _You’re just going to make me watch?_

“Yes, Isaac.”

            He can’t hide his flinch as Isaac moves to strike the girl, but he _doesn’t_ strike her.  Instead he picks her up, holding her in a tight embrace as she continues to sob.

            “Shhhh, baby, shhh,” the Second pacifies, voice bafflingly soft and soothing.  “I know it’s scary, but it’s all okay.”

            _It’s okay? How is it okay? How are you not furious? She disobeyed by coming out and then ignored your command a second time.  It can’t be okay.  She was bad.  She must be punished._

_Maybe he means he’ll teach her to be better.  Maybe that’s why it will be okay.  She’ll learn not to do this again, and then she won’t be bad._

She continues to cry despite the care being shown to her, disrespecting the Second’s wish for her to be quiet in addition to her disobedience.

_You’re making it worse.  Can’t you see? Stop it.  Be quiet.  He wants you to be quiet.  At least try to be good._

            “Shh, shh. It’s okay now.  You’re okay.  I’m back. It’s all okay.  I’m sorry I left you by yourself, Addie; I’m so sorry, but we’re back.  Stiles is okay; he’s not hurting anymore.  It’s all going to be just fine; I promise.  I need you to go with Collin, though okay? I need you to go to the playroom with him for a little while.”

            “No!” she wails.

            _Here it comes.  He can’t ignore such blatant—_

“It okay, Stiles,” Isaac soothes.  “You don’t have to be scared for her.  She’s safe. You’re safe. There’s no punishment in this pack, not ever.”

            “Thank you, Isaac,” he answers automatically.

            _That can’t be true.  Surely. What test is this? What trick?_

            “I know it’s confusing,” the Second goes on, “I know you have training, but it’s simpler here. There’re no punishments. If you do something wrong, we’ll just tell you and then you’ll know.  That’s all. No one gets hurt here.”

            “Thank you, Isaac,” he repeats.

            “Collin, can you take Addie and go watch TV in the playroom for a little while? I need to talk to Stiles.”

            “I don’t _wanna._ I wanna stay in here with you,” Addie persists.

            He flinches again, barely suppressing a whimper.

            _Don’t do that. Don’t test him. Stop.  Don’t you have any training? Be good!_

            “It’s okay Stiles,” Isaac assures him.  “She can talk to me like that.  You can all talk to me like that.  I’m not going to hurt either of you, not ever, okay? The same for Collin and the Alpha and all the other betas.  You can speak to any of them however you like, regardless of rank.”

            “Thank you, Isaac.”

            _Speak to the Alpha however I like? I was right. It’s a trick.  You think I’ve forgotten some of my training.  You’re checking to see if I’m good enough to be worth the trouble of remaking.  I am. I’ll show you.  I’ll be good._

“Come on, Addie,” Collin says, prying the girl from Isaac’s arms. “Let’s go inside so Isaac can talk to Stiles so he’s not confused anymore.”

“I wanna help him not be confused.”

“That’s really sweet of you, but I can do it,” Isaac answers.  “You just go play, all right? You can come help us make lunch in a little bit.”

“Okay,” she agrees reluctantly.

They disappear into the house, leaving Stiles in the yard with the Second.  He’s still braced for the moment the Second shows his anger.   This isn’t normal; this can’t be how it really works.  There must be another test somewhere, a catch he can’t see.

            _What is it? What am I missing? I don’t understand._

“Stiles, can you sit on the steps with me please?”

            “Yes, Isaac,” he answers, moving immediately to obey.

            “I know this is all incredibly overwhelming.  I know you’re worried, but I really mean it when I tell you that you have a place in this pack no matter what.  It’s okay that you don’t remember; this just happens sometimes. You’re still a very good beta, Stiles.”

_I’m a good beta. He thinks I’m a good beta.  I have a place in a pack. I’m good. I’m kept. He’s happy with me.  But is it a trick? Maybe they want to see if I’ll believe I deserve a place without earning it.  Maybe they’re making sure the loss of the memories didn’t change the fact that I’m good._

_I am good.  I can still be good.  I will be.  I’ll work hard to stay; I will._

 “Thank you, Isaac. I want to be good.  I want to learn. I’ll do whatever the pack—”

 “I appreciate that very much.  The Alpha will too.”

“I’m glad to.”

“Your memories will come back,” the Isaac tells him though there’s worry in his voice that has Stiles wondering about the certainty of the words, “and until then you can do whatever you want.”

“I want to be useful,” Stiles answers immediately.  “I want to be good.”

_If it’s a test, I can pass this.  I want to keep you happy, keep the Alpha and the Elect happy.  I want you to keep thinking I’m good.  Tell me how to be useful.  I won’t take any of it for granted.  I’ll show my gratitude however you’ll let me._

“Thank you, Stiles; I’m glad you want to help.”

“Of course, Isaac. Anything.”

“I’ll give you some jobs to do, okay?  There’s a list the Alpha made. I’ll go get it. I’ll be right back.”

“Yes, Isaac, thank you.”

Stiles flinches a bit as the Second rises from the steps, but he’s just walking past; He pauses at the sound of a car skidding to a halt outside the house; Stiles turns toward the noise with a growl.

“Don’t shift,” Isaac orders.  “It’s Derek; It’s the Alpha, not a threat.  Don’t shift; stay here.  Don’t worry.  He won’t hurt you.”

 

*************************************************

 

            Derek is out of the car almost before it’s stopped moving; he sprints for the house yelling Addie’s name as he goes.  She was wailing on the phone, crying too hard for her words to be understood.  Derek made out only four: Stiles. Hurt. I’m scared.    

            _Please be Damon.  Please don’t be Wretch.  Let them be okay. Please please let them be okay.       Where’s Isaac? What happened? I should have been here._

Isaac meets him at the door assuring, “She’s okay. Everyone’s fine. Everything’s fine.”

            Derek nods, knees nearly buckling with the relief of the words. 

            “Sorry.  I should’ve called you already, but—”

            “It’s fine. I don’t care. Just as long as they’re okay. Where are they? Who is he?”

            “She’s in her room; I just sat Stiles down to try and explain a little,” Isaac says.

Though Derek could never be cruel enough to refer to this personality as Wretch to his face, he does wish this personality had a name that wasn’t Stiles.  It’s so much easier to keep Damon and Stiles separate with two names; then again keeping them separate isn’t necessarily a good thing.  That was Isaac’s argument when the topic of naming him differently came up.  Derek’s not sure how this will work with the kids. 

_Will Addie need a separate name to keep things straight? Or will she adapt all right?  Collin can run with either.  He’ll understand well enough.  Poor kid, if he thought Damon’s docility was bad…_

            “So do we—do we keep them here? Or should they go to Pop’s for the night?” Derek wonders.

            “I want to stay and help Stiles,” Collin interjects. 

            Derek’s heart breaks to see the boy standing in the back of the foyer; Addie’s behind him, peeking out from around her brother at the scene she doesn’t understand.

            “I wanna help Stiles too,” she asserts tearfully.

            Every instinct in Derek screams for him to pick them both up right now and get them the hell away from this shitstorm—take them to get ice cream and go to the playground and do simple, carefree, _normal_ kid stuff—but that can’t happen.  This is the life they chose for the kids as soon as they adopted them, and for the first time Derek _really_ wonders if they shouldn’t send the kids someplace else permanently.

            _Maybe the sheriff could—or Melissa—Jackson’s better than he thinks at—_

“I can help. Tell me what to do,” Collin requests. 

            He’s got a brave face on, but the red rims on his eyes betray that Addie’s not the only one who’s cried today.     

            “I know you could help, but Stiles will be okay with just one of us here,” Isaac answers. 

“Come on,” Derek beckons.  “You guys hop in the car, and you can go visit Pop for a while.  We’ll stop by Caroline’s and get a to-go lunch.”

            “And get ice cream?” Addie wonders, distracted at the prospect.

            “Yeah, and get ice cream.”

            “You go with Derek,” Collin tells her.  “I’ll stay and help Isaac.”

            “Huh?”

            “Collin—”

            “This happens, right?” Collin interrupts.  “Like Damon.  So teach me what to do when he’s like this. I learned Damon; I’ll learn this Stiles too. I can do it.”

            Derek’s protest to the idea catches in his throat.

            _You’re ten.  You’re only ten. You shouldn’t be shouldering this._

And yet part of Derek is positively glowing with pride that his son is already so insistent that he learn how to aid the people he loves.

            _He’ll be a great Alpha one day._

_But today he’s still a kid, and—_

            “Maybe you’ve got a point, Collin,” Isaac admits.

“What?!” Derek demands, incredulous.

“They’ve handled Damon okay; this isn’t something that’s going to go away.  They’ll have to stay around him when he’s like this eventually.  We don’t know how long it will be before everything settles back to normal.  Maybe we should just bite the bullet here.  Maybe they should learn to handle it.”

“They’re _kids_.”

“I’m a _big_ girl!” Addie asserts.  “I wanna help!”

            Derek knows Isaac is right to an extent.  This is something the kids were going to have to learn eventually.  They’re in a wolf pack; they’re going to see plenty of things normal kids shouldn’t have to.  They’ve been absolutely incredible handling Damon.  Maybe the sooner they acclimate and understand this personality the better.

            _But Wretch doesn’t remember them; he can’t interact and learn how to be with them on the same level Damon can.  Addie’s going to be confused as hell and disappointed too, probably. This isn’t a personality she can befriend.  I don’t know that Wretch has that capacity.  He’s not going to be able to hide his fear of Collin.  Collin’s going to hate it.  How do we explain all of this to them when we don’t even understand it all? Where the hell do we even start?_

*************************************************

 

            Derek sits Stiles down at the table to explain the rules of this pack.  Collin asks to stay and listen.  That leaves Isaac to take Addie out for a while to swing, and hopefully get out any questions that might upset Stiles in this state.  She’s uncharacteristically quiet though, and still much more stressed and tearful than Isaac cares to see.  She relaxes slowly as the minutes pass.  Isaac runs through a thousand ways to start the conversation in his mind, but, in the end, Addie’s the one who breaks the silence.

            “Hey, Isaac?”

            “Yeah?”

            “Why does Stiles hurt like that?”

            “It’s called a seizure,” Isaac tells her.

            “He’s had seizures before, and he didn’t hurt like that.”

            She’s seen a few of the minor episodes that didn’t even send Stiles into a switch.

            “You’re right.  Sometimes they’re worse though, and the really bad ones make his head hurt really bad.”

“How come it was worse?”

“I’m not sure.”

            “Dr. Deaton can’t fix it?”

            “No, he can’t.”

            “Why not?”

            “It’s—there’s not a medicine for it.”

            “So he’s always gonna hurt like that?”

            “Sometimes, but it’s not a lot.  Like you said, he has them sometimes and they don’t hurt too bad.  It might even go away one day.”

            “Is he gonna stay confused like that for a long time? Like Damon and the other Stiles stay long times?”

            “I’m not sure; maybe not too long.”

            _Hopefully days, not weeks.  Wretch usually doesn’t stay as long as Damon._

“He was really scared.”

            “Yeah, I know, honey, but we’ll keep being nice.  We’ll try to help him feel safer.”

            She’s lost in thought now and Isaac watches as her tiny brow furrows in concentration, but she doesn’t say anything else.  He can only imagine the difficulty of trying to understand yet another aspect of Stiles, but she’s a smart kid and adaptable.  Maybe this won’t be too much for her.  Maybe it won’t be as bad as they’ve been dreading.

 

*****************************************************************

 

            Wretch moves immediately to make lunch the moment he’s dismissed from his discussion with Derek about how things work in this pack.  He goes overboard, as he always does.  There is none of the awe-filled tranquility in finding himself in a good pack; he’s not humming with the radio or relaxing in any way.  Instead, Wretch acts as if he might be punished or thrown out at any moment.  Collin sits in the den with Derek, tense and worried, but he’s clearly determined to learn how to interact with this personality of Stiles’. 

            “You think he’ll scare Addie?” Collin asks Derek quietly.

            “It may be a little unsettling,” Derek replies honestly, “but if it seems like it’s too much, Pop won’t mind some company for a few days.  That goes for you too,” he adds, “if you need a break.”

            “I’ll be okay.”

            “I’m really proud of you for trying so hard,” Derek praises, “but it’s just as important to know your limits, okay? If you’re feeling a little too stressed—”

            “Yeah, sure,” Collin interrupts.  “I get it.”

            “Alph—Derek,” Wretch says quietly, kneeling in the entryway to address his Alpha.  “Lunch is ready if you’d like to eat.”

            “Thank you, Stiles.”

            “Should I prepare you a plate or—”

            “We’ll fix our own plates; thank you.  Please just wait for us in the kitchen.”

            “Yes, Derek.”

            He sends Collin to go and get Isaac and Addie.  Addie’s still wary of Wretch, but she’s much less distraught than when she first saw him. Derek takes heart in the improvement, though the hope wavers as he watches Collin mask his horror as Derek has to explain that Wretch is allowed the same amount of food, at the same time, and to sit at the same table as the Alpha, Second, and Elect.  Still, they manage to make plates and take their seats without any major breakdowns, and Derek reminds himself to be grateful for the little things.

            _Gotta take it all just a moment at a time with Wretch.  Just get from minute to minute._

“Are you cold?” Addie asks Wretch, staring at his slightly trembling hands from across the table.

            “No,” he answers, confusion evident.

            “Why’re you shivering?”

            “I’m—I’m not. I—”   His eyes dart to Derek, Isaac, and Collin in trepidation.  “I can’t stop it; I’m sor—”

            “It’s okay,” Derek assures him with a smile. “Addie, Stiles is just—he’s a little nervous. That’s all,” he answers for Stiles.

            “Oh.”  She studies Wretch a moment more before asking, “Are you nervous ‘cause you’re still scared of Derek ‘n’ Collin ‘n’ Isaac?”

            “Derek’s a good Alpha,” Wretch responds.  “It’s a good pack.  They’re all good—the best.  I know. I do, Derek; I promise.  I don’t mean to seem—”

            “It’s okay if you’re a little nervous, Stiles,” Derek soothes.

            “Derek’s not a bad alpha,” Addie informs.  “He’s a good one.”

            “I know!” Wretch assures, hysteria creeping into his voice just slightly.   “Derek’s good, very good—giving food and—and tasks that don’t hurt.  I’m grateful, very, _very_ grateful, Derek. Thank you.  I’ll learn to stop the shaking. I—”

            “That’s all very kind of you to say, Stiles; thank you.  I don’t mind you being nervous.  It’s okay if you’re a little jittery.”

            “Thank you, Derek; thank you.”

            “But if he knows you’re not bad, then how come—”

  “Addie, I think that’s enough questions right now.”

            “But—”

            “Adelyn Marie, I said _enough_ _questions._ ”

            _Please don’t push him like this.  You don’t understand how fragile this all is.  You don’t know how quickly he can go off.  You don’t know how truly terrified he is.  I know you’re too young to understand all of it, but please, for once, let that inquisitive little mind of yours stay quiet a while._

            She frowns at Derek, pushing her chair back and disappearing down the hall and up the stairs.

            _Dammit._

Derek rises and follows her, trying and failing to ignore the whimper that escapes Wretch at the movement.  He can hear Isaac murmuring comfort to the petrified beta.  Just as Derek reaches the top of the steps, Addie comes hurrying past holding an all-too-familiar stuffed wolf. 

“This is Luna,” she introduces as she and Derek walk back in the kitchen.

            She comes to a stop beside Wretch’s chair, looking down fondly at the toy, petting behind its ears as she talks. 

            “She’s a guard-wolf,” Addie continues.   “She keeps me safe so the bad dreams and thunderstorms and monsters don’t scare me.  She keeps Damon safe too sometimes when he needs it.  I don’t mind sharing.”

            “Oh,” Wretch says in the ensuing silence, clearly not sure why she’s telling this.

            “You can keep her a while,” Addie tells him, offering the toy, “and then you don’t have to be scared, okay? She won’t let anything hurt you.”

            When Wretch hesitates to take the animal from her, she places it in his lap.

            “Pet her on her head,” she instructs, “Not her tummy ‘cause she’s ticklish.”

            Wretch doesn’t smile exactly, but the worry must wane a little because his face relaxes slightly.  He looks to Derek, who nods and smiles.

 “Okay,” Wretch agrees, doing as Addie instructed.

            She nods approvingly and climbs back in her chair. 

           

*********************************************************

 

            “You want to play tea party?” Addie asks, coming into the kitchen where Stiles is washing dishes from lunch.

            He places the final plate in the drying rack and turns to face her.

            “Do I want to make tea?” he asks, unsure what task she’s wondering if he’ll do. 

            _There was nothing on the list about preparing for a party._

“No, silly, it’s pretend tea,” she replies.  “You use your imagination. That’s the fun part.”

            _That sounds like a game.  It doesn’t sound useful. Fun isn’t useful._

“I need to get everything ready for dinner,” he replies.

            “But you always like tea party,” she pouts, reaching to tug at his hand. 

            “We can’t,” he replies pulling his fingers from hers.  “There’s a list, and—”

            “Playing with her counts,” Derek says, appearing around the corner.  “It strengthens the pack bonds, helps her creativity, plenty of useful things.  It’s just as important as anything else.”

            “So Stiles can play?” Addie asks. 

            “If he wants to,” Derek says.  “It’s up to Stiles.”

            “I could do both, Derek.  I can do this and still make dinner.”

            _I could do so much more than that, but you keep slowing me down.  I know you say I’m not earning my place, but I want to.  I want to be useful.  I want to be too valuable to lose.  I want to stay here.  Please, please, please._

            “If you’d like to do both I’d appreciate that,” Derek says.

“We can have pizza!” Addie suggests. 

            “I know how to make pizza,” Stiles offers.  “If you want, Derek, or anything you want.  I can make whatever you—”

            “Pizza sounds great. Thank you.  How about we plan to eat dinner at six? That gives you a few hours with Addie if you want.”

            “Yes, please, Derek.”

            Derek grins widely at the response.  Stiles can’t believe the Alpha’s so glad to hear Stiles wants to do this, that he thinks it’s useful to make Addie happy and creative.  He’s still not sure exactly what he’s agreed to, but he doubts the little beta now skipping down the hall with him in tow has anything unpleasant in mind for her afternoon.  She’s smiling easily, chattering about the various stuffed animals she’s begun placing at the small table in the room he can hardly believe is hers.   Stiles likes the energy radiating off her, happiness and contentment in waves.  If this keeps up, he thinks this might just replace cooking as his favorite way of being useful.  Still, despite her upbeat demeanor, he can’t help thinking that a little solemnity would make her a better beta; she’s too outspoken, too impulsive, too strong-willed.  Derek’s patience can only last so long. 

            _I could help with her; I could teach her better._

_Derek said not to hurt her though._

_I can at least tell her, stop her when she speaks out, keep her from inadvertent disrespectful behavior, like the scene she made storming out at lunch.  I can help her be better._  

            “Tea party” isn’t a particularly engaging activity, but Stiles plays along, listening to the young beta invent countless scenarios for the imaginary games they play.  Stiles sees how this could be useful later.  She could be an asset planning battle scenarios.  She could host important guests.  She could help to raise other children.  Still, the game leaves his mind far too idle for his liking; it gives him the disconcerting feeling that he’s not being useful enough, and he considers several times abandoning the game to pursue other things on the list. 

In the end, he waits it out until time to begin preparing for dinner; the list is simple, after all, he can complete it late tonight.  Addie comes to the kitchen with him, chattering for a little while before leaving to go to the den.

“Don’t touch those,” Stiles commands when Addie returns and reaches for the cookies cooling on the counter.

            She jumps back, startled.  Her hand remains frozen mid-grab as she puts her lip out in a pout. 

            “Derek hasn’t had any yet,” Stiles continues.  “You can have some when he gives them to you.”

            _See. These are the things you should know.  These are things you must be taught.  Any other alpha would rend your flesh for even thinking of eating before him.  Derek’s patient with you; be grateful and learn while he gives you the chance._

            “Derek doesn’t care,” Addie counters.

            _Have they taught you nothing? Of course he cares.  It’s a matter of respect._

He fights down the urge to growl or strike as he attempts to remedy her appalling ignorance.

            “Derek is your Alpha.  He allows you nice things, so you respect him by letting him have it first.  Don’t you understand that?”

            “Collin had one,” she whines.

            “Collin will be your Alpha one day too; he—”

            “Collin’s not my Alpha.  He’s just my stupid, stinking brother.  I don’t have to—”

            “Stop that!” Stiles orders, grabbing Addie’s shoulders to startle her to silence, panic rising in him at the thought the others may have heard the horrible insubordinate assertion.  “You can’t talk about the Elect like that!”

            “Ow!” Addie protests, trying to pull away.

            “Addie? Stiles? What’s going on in there?” Derek demands sharply.

            _Oh no. no. no. He was listening, wasn’t he? He heard her._

            “Stiles is hurting me,” Addie cries, pulling at Stiles’ grip on her.

            Collin and Derek round the corner in the next instant.  Collin growls, and Derek’s eyes flash red as he thunders, “Let her go. Right now.”

            Stiles obeys instantly, releasing her as he scrambles backward until he’s quaking against the cabinets.

            “No, Derek, no, please, I wouldn’t hurt her.  I grabbed her, _just_ grabbed.  No claws.  It won’t bruise. I was careful. I just—she was—she shouldn’t say—I was—was trying to—”

            “He was _mean_!” Addie insists, running to Derek who scoops her up into his arms and starts checking for any wounds.

            “Please, Derek, _please_ I didn’t think it was bad.  I thought I should teach.  I thought it would be good.  _Please_ , I just wanted her to know how to respect—”

            “I’m not going to hurt you, Stiles.  It’s okay,” Derek says; he shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath before opening them again.  The red glow has retreated by the time he goes on,  “Just—don’t try to teach her anything, and don’t—don’t touch her either.  That’s the safest rule for everyone.”

            “Yes, Derek, not a single finger.  I swear to you, Derek, _I swear._ Never again.  I’m so sorry, Derek.”

            “It’s okay.  I’m not going to punish you.  You’re still re-learning things.  It’s okay if you make a few mistakes.  Please get back up.”

            He flinches back as Collin steps forward and reaches toward him. 

            “I’m not going to hurt you either,” Collin assures.  “I was just going to help you up, okay?” he asks.

            “Thank you, Collin. I’m sorry I—”

            “It’s fine,” Collin assures, though it can’t be fine; there are tears in his eyes.

            _Frustration? Disappointment? Anger?_

But it doesn’t seem to be any of those; he just looks so horribly sad Stiles could cry along with him.

            _He’s saddened by me.  Because I fucked things up.  How did I ruin everything so quickly?_

“Please get up, Stiles,” the Alpha bids.  “You’re not in trouble.”

“Maybe you should take her to Pop’s,” Collin says with a look to Addie.  “Me and Isaac’ll be here with Stiles.”

_They don’t trust me with her anymore.  I’m bad. I’m dangerous.  I’m unreliable_

“I’m so sorry, Derek,” Stiles says, rising in obedience though he feels it would be more fitting in this moment to grovel at the Alpha’s feet where he belongs.  “I thought I was doing something good for the pack.  I just wanted to teach her how to be a better beta.  I didn’t mean to make you all so unhappy. I’m trying to be good; I really, _really_ am.  I’m so sorry I’m failing.  I—”

“You aren’t failing, Stiles,” Derek soothes.  “You’ve made good progress already.  The memories will come back in time; any improvement in the meantime is just a bonus.  We got upset, but it was just a misunderstanding.  We aren’t angry or disappointed.”

“Thank you, Derek,” Stiles answers, still in awe of the seemingly endless mercy of the Alpha.  “I—I can finish dinner.  It won’t be late.  If Addie wants to stay I won’t—”

“I don’t wanna stay with you anymore,” she interrupts, and though the approval of the little beta doesn’t do him any good in the hierarchy of the pack, the words still seem harsh.       

_It doesn’t matter. It will be easier without her anyway.  I don’t know how to correct her without making you angry.  She doesn’t listen like she should._

“I think we’ll go on a walk,” Derek tells her.  “Me and you, and when we get back dinner will be ready, okay?”

“’kay.”

They head out the door as Isaac comes into the kitchen.  Isaac smiles and nods at Derek, as though they’re exchanging a statement Stiles doesn’t understand.   He focuses instead on turning back to dinner preparations, hoping the steady rhythm of slicing vegetables will calm him a bit.

“She’s only four,” Isaac says quietly.  “She scares easily, and she doesn’t quite understand the situation.”

_That makes two of us, doesn’t it?  It’s not an excuse for her to be bad._

Stiles doesn’t know what to say in reply, but Collin speaks next, preventing any uncomfortable pause.

“She’ll forget she ever got upset before you know it.  She likes you.”

_No she doesn’t._

He doesn’t speak the disrespectful contradiction, but Collin must sense his skepticism.

            “Seriously, she doesn’t share Luna with just anyone.  You’ve got to be pretty high up on her list to get that privilege.”

            Stiles eyes glance over to the corner where he set the stuffed animal earlier.  It seems a silly notion to him that any such object could be treated with the sincere reverence Addie shows for it.  It’s not a talisman of value, not really, but it’s clearly important to her; besides, Derek and Isaac both beamed with pride when she offered it to Stiles.  He didn’t dare scoff at it after that.

            “You have to be family,” Collin goes on.

            _Family._

They’ve repeated the word a dozen times, reminding again and a again that the Hale pack runs like a human _family_ not just a wolf pack.  Stiles still can’t wrap his head around the concept or how to meld it with his ingrained training.  Still, “family” is something he’s clearly meant to be striving for.

            “She—she thinks I’m family?” Stiles wonders, sure he’s probably misunderstood something.

            “Yes,” Isaac confirms.  “Because you _are_.”

            _If you say so,_ he thinks with an uncertain smile, turning back to the peppers he’s slicing. 

 

 

*********************************************

 

            “Addie, honey, don’t you want to talk about it?” Derek asks; it’s not lost on him that he’s generally the last person to suggest talking, but she’s been sitting glumly in her plastic playhouse for a solid five minutes.  “Or maybe ask me a question?”

            “No.”

            “Okay, well—you—you want to play pretend?”

            “No.”

            “You want to go watch Tangled?”

            “No.”

            “We could go to Pop’s house,” Derek offers.

            _Maybe we should._

“No.”

            There’s a beat or two more of silence as Derek struggles to figure out what to do next.  

            “Why’s he say I’m bad?” Addie finally wonders into the quiet.

            “He told you that you were bad?”

            “He keeps telling me to be good, like I’m not.  Why doesn’t he think I’m good? He’s nice to Collin.”

            “Baby, he’s—he’s just scared; that’s all.  Isaac told you what he thinks right now.”

            “He still thinks if he makes you mad you’ll be mean like the bad alphas.”

            “That’s right, and because Isaac is Second and Collin with be Alpha one day, he’s scared to make them mad too.”

            “He doesn’t mind making me mad; he hurt me.”

            “He didn’t mean to.”

            “Did too!”

            “He was trying to make sure you didn’t get in trouble.  He’s afraid that if you make anyone mad, we’ll hurt you.”

            “But you’re not gonna hurt me.”

            “Of course not, but he has trouble believing that.”

            “I don’t like this Stiles.  I want the other one back.”

            “Me too,” Derek agrees, “but it’s not his fault that he’s here.  He’s trying really hard to fit in.”  When she doesn’t respond immediately, he reminds, “He played tea party today, remember? He wants to get along with everyone.  He’s just not sure how to act sometimes.  He’s still really scared.”

            “I gave him Luna.”

            “I know, and that was _so_ sweet of you.  But those Alphas hurt him a _lot,_ so it’s gonna take more time for him to feel safe here, even with Luna.  He’s not as quick at it as Damon.  You have to be patient with him.”

“I don’t wanna be patient; I want Stiles to come back, _real_ Stiles or Damon.I don’t like this one.”

“If you want to go to Pop’s, that’s okay.  You don’t have to stay here with this Stiles.”

“He’s not allowed to be mean anymore, right?”

“Right,” Derek assures, “and me or Isaac can stay right with you, just in case.”

_You shouldn’t ever have to be scared in your own house. What the fuck was I thinking leaving you alone with him even for a minute? He just seemed to be doing so well with you after playing all afternoon.  I thought it was safe. I thought it would be okay.  I didn’t think he would scare you like that._

_Maybe we should’ve just taken you to Pop’s.  Maybe one of us should take Stiles to Pop’s until the episode passes.  I don’t know what the answer is.  I don’t know which option is best because they all seem to be more than you should have to handle.  I don’t know what to do; I really don’t._

**************************

 

Neither Collin nor Addie speaks much dinner, not that Isaac’s surprised.   They both keep glancing at Stiles from the corner of their eyes like they want to say something but can’t figure out what.  It’s making Stiles nervous to get even that slight amount of attention, especially from Collin, so Isaac tries to smile reassuringly every time Stiles’ eyes meet his.  

            “This is fantastic pizza, Stiles.  You did a really good job with dinner.”

            “Thank you, Isaac.”

            “And sugar cookies and pie for dessert,” Derek adds. 

“Sugar cookies with sprinkles,” Addie expounds.  “They’re yummy,”

            “Sounds like someone sampled before her supper,” Derek comments with raised eyebrows.

            “I only had one,” she admits with her most adorable I’m-an-innocent-angel grin.

            Isaac not surprised she managed to snag a cookie before dinner; there’s a reason Scott calls her the Cookie Monster.

            “You know the rules, Addie,” Derek chastises. “No—”

            “It’s my fault, Derek,” Stiles interrupts quickly, panicking; his eyes dart worriedly from Derek to Addie.  “I should’ve watched more closely.  She’s too young to remember all the rules. I should have—”

            “Stiles, Stiles, it’s okay.  I won’t hurt her.  I promise.”

            “Derek’s a good Alpha,” Addie reminds with a slightly exasperated sigh.  “’member?”

            “Yes, Derek’s good. Very good. I—I just—I’m sorry Derek I—”

            “Don’t be sorry, Stiles,” Derek says.  “Thank you for taking up for her, but she knows she’s not allowed dessert before dinner.  This just means no dessert for her tomorrow night. That’s all.”

            “But _Derek—”_

“Don’t, Addie, don’t,” Stiles implores.  “Be quiet.”

            “I only had _one_ ,” Addie continues.  “That’s not _fair._ ”

            “Stop it, Addie! Be good!” Stiles commands harshly, and she promptly bursts into tears. 

            “Don’t yell at her!” Collin orders, reaching to grab Addie and pull her over into his lap.

            “Yes, Collin, I’m sorry, Collin—I didn’t—I don’t—I just—she shouldn’t say things like that.  She’s lucky it’s just yelling; Derek could—”

            “Stiles, that’s enough.   This pack is different,” Derek reminds firmly.  “You don’t have to teach her not to anger me.  I’m not going to hurt them.   Not ever.”

            “Yes, Derek. Thank you, Derek. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

            “It’s okay, Stiles. Just—finish your dinner please.”

            “Yes, Derek. Thank you.”

            Stiles doesn’t lift his eyes from his plate for the rest of the meal.  Isaac makes a few attempts to rekindle conversation, but in the end he gives up. 

            “How about those cookies, Addie?” Isaac asks, hoping the prospect will perk her back up. 

            “I don’t want one anymore,” Addie replies, still a little tearful. 

            “They looked so good though,” Isaac says.  “Come on.  Let’s go get them and bring them—”

            “No!” Addie retorts with a pout, pushing down from Collin’s lap and stomping her little feet all the way into the den. 

            _Here we go again.  Can we just get to bedtime? Please? Good greif._            

 

************************************************

 

            Stiles watches forlornly as the Second hurries after Addie, abandoning his meal before he was done so he can clean up a situation Stiles caused.

            _Everything was going so well, and I ruined it._

_She’s unhappy. They’re all unhappy.  I ruined all of it._

_Again._

_Derek won’t want me to even talk to her anymore.  He won’t allow me at the table if I ruin meals.  I was just trying to make sure she was good.  I didn’t touch her this time.  I just yelled a little.  I didn’t mean to make her cry. I just—I couldn’t help it._

“D—Derek, I—I didn’t mean to upset her. I won’t—I didn’t—I—you’re good, I know. Just—she’s so little and—I didn’t want—I want her to learn so she’ll be good, and—but I can—I won’t yell if—”

            “You want her to be safe,” Derek says gently.  “I know, Stiles. I’m glad.”

            “Yes, Derek. Thank you.”

            “I understand that it’s hard for you to accept that I’m not going to hurt any of my betas,” Derek goes on, “but she’s only had good alphas.  She doesn’t know how bad it could be, and we don’t want her to.  It would scare her.”

            _It should scare her.  She should understand how good she has it; that way she can make sure she’s good enough to be kept.  You might not hurt her, but what if you sent her away or she was taken? She should know how hard she needs to try to stay with you and how much gratitude she owes you.  She should respect you properly.  I want her to be very good for you.  I want her to appreciate this good pack. That’s all.  I want to make it better, not mess things up.  I’m sorry._

“Don’t talk about what could happen,” Derek instructs.  “I appreciate that you can see I’m not like that, but you don’t need to frighten her into being good, okay?”

            “Yes, Derek.”

            “Thanks for sticking up for her and stuff though,” Collin adds in.  “That was nice of you.”

            Stiles shrugs off the appreciation.  The general topic makes him uncomfortable because he’s not entirely sure why the idea of the little beta getting punished bothers him so much; it shouldn’t matter as long as he isn’t the one being punished, but it does.  He supposes it has something to do with the fact she’s the Alpha’s child, which doesn’t make her a higher beta, but does make her important to the pack.

            _Just another thing I can’t figure out.  It’s a wonder any pack wants such a dense, burdensome beta.  I should be ashamed.  I am ashamed.  A whole day of patience and mercy and still I feel I barely understand anything._

******************************************************

 

            Isaac sends a text to Derek from the den as he brings out Candy Land in an effort to distract Addie.

            “I think they’ve had plenty for this round of Wretch,” Isaac types.  “Time to call Pop?”

            “Yeah,” Derek texts back.

            So after dinner, when Stiles is occupied in the kitchen and Derek’s got an eye on the kids, Isaac heads out of earshot to make the call.  They decide the best option is probably for the sheriff to come stay at the pack house, and let Derek and Isaac alternate days at the Stilinski house with Stiles.  It will be the least problematic for the kids and leave the pack house available for the usual breakfasts and dinner and trainings in case this personality stays a while.

            “So just give me a call when you and Stiles head this way,” the Sheriff says, “and I’ll head for your place.”

            “Thanks for this; sorry we’re—”

            “Spending a week spoiling the hell out of my grandkids?” the sheriff interrupts.  “Oh, yeah, _that’s_ a real sacrifice.  It’s not a problem, Isaac.”

            _Ah, the defensive Stilinski sarcasm._

“Still, we really do appreciate it.”

            “And I appreciate being appreciated but would appreciate an end to the unneeded thanks.  Call if anything changes, okay?”

            “Yep.”

            Isaac puts away his phone and heads back toward the house feeling pretty good about the plan overall. 

            _The kids were exposed to Wretch, but they don’t need to be any more overwhelmed than they are.  Stiles or Damon should be back in a week or so.  Next time Wretch comes maybe we’ll try to do a few things differently._

In all honesty, Isaac’s hoping that the questions Stiles may get from the kids after this might continue to prod him toward exploring his DID.  The level of fear present in Wretch highlights how unfathomably troubled Stiles really is from all the pent up trauma with the alphas.  Maybe returning to find the kids have been worrying over him rather than the general contentment they have when Damon’s around will be a reminder that Stiles isn’t the only one affected by his refusal to delve into his issues—not that he doesn’t understand his loved ones are effected, it’s just going to be different to justify stressing two kids as opposed to stressing adults who can fully comprehend the situation.

            Isaac’s pulled from his thoughts at the sound of a bone-chilling growl that emanates from the house; it’s followed almost immediately by a yelp that could only be Addie’s.  The cacophony of snarls and howls of pain that follow the initial outburst turn Isaac’s blood to ice as he races for the house screaming names in hopes that someone answers even though they can’t possibly hear him over the mêlée.

            _No. No. No. No. No._

           

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What can I say? I love writing cliffhangers. 
> 
> sorry not sorry? try not to hate me too much?
> 
> Shoutout to SlitheringAngel for his invaluable service as a sounding board & beta reader! :D 
> 
> This is also a general reminder that Stiles' psychiatric issues are pilot-serving much, much more than an attempt to accurately portray the disorders; also keep in mind that both Wretch and Damon are variations on Stiles, not just a cut and dry previous version of him, if that makes sense? I hope it does.
> 
> Aaaanyhow, thanks for reading :D


	8. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whelp...here ya go. hope it doesn't disappoint!

            One moment Addie’s pitching a fit about bath time, including a swift kick to Derek’s shin, and the next Isaac’s voice is ringing in Derek’s ears.

            “Oh, my God, Derek! What did you do!?”

            The reddish haze fades into a new shade of red as he stares down at the blood dripping from his claws. 

            _What? Who’s blood is—_

“Get the fuck off of him!” Isaac thunders, shoving at Derek.

            Derek falls easily to the side, so dumbfounded that it doesn’t even cross his mind to resist.  His eyes settle on the still form on the floor as Isaac kneels next to him.

            “Stiles, hey, look at me,” he urges.  “Open your eyes,” he commands, shaking him. “Come on!”

            Wretch’s eyes fly open as he sucks in a harsh, gurgling breath.

            “Please, I’m so sorry.   I’ll be better. Please stop!” he begs pitifully.  “Please, please, stop.”        

            “No more,” Isaac promises. “It was an accident. They didn’t mean it, okay? No one’s going to hurt you anymore, I promise.”

            “Isaac, I didn’t—I didn’t—” Collin stammers, and Derek realizes there are crimson stains on his hands and arms as well.

            “I told you to pull pain from your sister!” Isaac orders.  “Make sure she’s healing.”

            _Did you tell him? When? How long did I keep going even once you started yelling? What the fuck is wrong with me—wait, pull pain from Addie; Stiles hurt Addie._

            His eyes find her to assess her wounds.  She’s got blood dripping down her right arm and tears streaming down her face as she bawls, curled in a ball on the floor.  The wound on her arm is already healing, but Derek moves to help Collin draw the pain anyway.

“I didn’t mean it,” Wretch whines weakly.  “I just—she hurt the Alpha—my claws were in her before I could stop—but I—I stopped as soon as I could; I promise I—

”

            “It was an accident,” Isaac interrupts.  “We know, Stiles. No one’s going to hurt you anymore.  It’s okay.  You’re okay.”

It comes back to Derek then: Addie’s sharp kick, Wretch’s angry growl, her howl of pain as Wretch’s claws sank in, the smell of her blood and—and the overwhelming fury and need to protect his daughter that blocked out _everything_ else. 

_No, I couldn’t—I wouldn’t—not to Wretch—to Stiles.  Oh, my God._

Stiles’ left arm is shredded, his shoulders and right arm aren’t much better.  Judging by the wet sound in his breathing and the trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth, some of the strikes to his abdomen went excruciatingly deep.  The red ring encircling his neck is beginning to bruise already where Derek—or Collin?—strangled him at some point in the fray.  Derek feels as though he’s going to be sick. 

“He’s not healing,” Isaac says.  “Call Deaton.”

“Stiles, I didn’t mea n to—”

“Call Deaton!” Isaac roars, cutting off whatever futile apology Derek was about to muster. “ _Right fucking now_ or so help me God, Derek, I will—”

“Deaton,” Derek mutters. “Yeah—we need—he needs—Deaton. Isaac, I—how did I—he’s so—oh, my God, I—”

“Derek! Dial the goddamn number!”

“Deaton, call Deaton, yeah, right, okay. Got it.”

He rises slowly, still feeling like he’ll wake any moment from this nightmare.  It can’t possibly be real; it _can’t_.  He picks up the phone and tries to ignore the bile that rises in his throat at the red smudges his fingers leave behind on the buttons.  Isaac’s authoritative tone, Addie’s yowling, Collin’s blubbering, and Wretch’s pleas blend into a dull roar in Derek’s ears as he focuses instead on the ringing of the phone.

“Hello?” Deaton answers.

“Pack house,” Derek tells him.  “We—we need you for—Stiles is hurt, and—and Addie.  We need you to come. Can you come?”

“What happened?”

“I—we—it was an accident.  He’s not healing, Deaton.”

“I’m on my way. Is someone else there? Where’s Isaac? Give Isaac the phone.”

Derek does as directed, still moving sluggishly through his mental haze.  Isaac takes the phone from him but doesn’t move from where he’s leeching pain from Stiles’ whimpering but unconscious form.  Collin’s got Addie’s pain under control, so Derek kneels to help Stiles, still fighting the urge to vomit at sight of Wretch’s wounds.

“Derek, did we—did we really—look what we did!” Collin laments tearfully.

_We fucked it all up—not you and me; I mean me and Isaac and Stiles—we should’ve had a better plan than this.  We should never have risked bringing you into this family.  We failed you and Addie both._

_We fucked it all up._

*******************************************************

 

            “I don’t understand why he isn’t healing,” Isaac says, watching anxiously as Deaton assesses the wounds.  “The wounds are extensive, but he’s been through worse, right? He should be able to heal.”

            “He should,” Deaton agrees.

            “Then why isn’t he?” Derek asks.

            If Isaac wasn’t so pissed at Derek he’d want to hold him right now.  He’s wrecked as he stares down at the handiwork of his Alpha instincts, but he _should_ be.  Instincts or no, this was too much—for Stiles, for the kids, hell even for Isaac.  But Collin lost it too, and Isaac can’t help but blame the high tensions of the day for shortening their fuses.

            _We should have gotten the kids the fuck out of here a lot sooner._

“You know as well as I do,” Deaton replies.  “If he’s not healing even though he could, then he’s _choosing_ not to.”

            “He’s not even awake.”

            Deaton shrugs.  “It’s the logical explanation.”

            “He’s—he’s gonna be okay, though, right? He’ll—he’s not—” Collin’s holding onto his sister for dear life, and Isaac doubts the hold with slacken anytime soon.  Addie’s physical wounds healed before Deaton even arrived.  It’s the abject horror in both her and Collin’s face that has Isaac really worried. 

            “He needs to start healing,” Deaton says.  “As long as he does, yes, he’ll recover completely.”

            _Maybe physically._

“Derek, you and Collin,” Deaton says, staring pointedly at the blood drying on their hands.  “You—lost your control?”

            “I was bad,” Addie wails, the first words out of her mouth since everything happened.  “I kicked Derek and Stiles got so mad and he hurt me and then—then they hurt him! He started screaming, and they didn’t stop!!”

            She pushes away from Collin, running instead to Isaac’s arms.

            “I said stop and Stiles said stop and they didn’t listen! And then he wasn’t screaming anymore and—and—and I just didn’t wanna go to bed yet.  I didn’t mean to make everybody mad!”

            “It’s not your fault, baby,” Isaac promises, pulling her close.  “It’s okay.”

            _You’re four.   How could you possibly think that a tantrum would lead to a bloodbath? We didn’t even think this could happen, and we know Wretch much better than you._

“Make him better, Isaac! Make him get better!”

            “He will—he just—he needs some time.”

            “Now!”

            “So if—if it started because he broke a rule by hurting Addie,” Deaton says, “then he thought it was a punishment?”

            “Probably,” Isaac agrees.

            “The entire point of Alpha wounds healing more slowly is so lessons can be taught and the pack can be kept in order—at least from an animalistic hierarchical point of view,” Deaton says.  “Perhaps you should clarify that you didn’t intend things to go this far,” he suggests to Derek.  “You didn’t, did you?”

            “Of course not! What the hell do you think—”

            “We really didn’t mean it,” Collin swears.  “I didn’t even know—I just—everything was red, and then Isaac was yelling.”

“Tell him to heal,” Deaton tells Derek.  “Alpha order if you need to.”

Derek moves to comply, kneeling by Stiles’ head.

“Stiles,” he says, taking his face in his hands rather than shake his wounded shoulders, but Stiles’ doesn’t respond.  “Stiles, you have to heal, okay? It was an accident; we didn’t mean for this to happen.  We’re so fucking sorry, Stiles.  You gotta heal.”

Stiles doesn’t stir, so Derek employs the Alpha tone, “Heal, Stiles, as fast as you can.”

He whines at the tone, but his eyes flutter open just a moment as he mumbles an obedient,  “Yes, Alpha.”

 

******************************************************

 

            Stiles wakes slowly, aching all over though his wounds have mostly healed.  He takes in the room around him, most importantly the fact that the Alpha is sitting in the chair by the bed, and he moves immediately to show gratitude and improvement so Derek will know the punishment was enough.  He intends to fall to the floor and kneel, but Derek catches him before he hits the hardwood. 

            “Don’t,” he instructs.  “It’s okay.  I’m not going to hurt you.”

            “I’m so sorry, Derek. I didn’t mean to hurt her; it happened before I knew what I was doing.  I—”

            “It was an accident.”

            “Yes, Derek, an accident.  I’d never intentionally disobey, _never!_   I’ll make it up to you if you’ll let—”

            “That won’t be necessary.”

            _What? Why not? Why wouldn’t I need to atone?_

_Unless…_

“Don’t send me away, Derek, please!” he beseeches as terror consumes him.  “I’ll do anything! Everything! I can be better; teach me to be better! Whatever it takes, please!”

            “I’m not sending you away; you always have a place in this pack, Stiles.  We love you.  I didn’t intend to hurt you so badly. I—”

            “I don’t mind, Derek. I can take punishments. I can—”

            “I don’t care if you can,” Derek says.  “I don’t ever want to be the kind of Alpha that uses his strength like this.  Collin didn’t mean it either.  We lost control, and that’s not okay.   We’re both very sorry for what happened.  You didn’t deserve to be hurt like that.”

            _Is Derek blaming himself? That can’t be right._

_A test? Maybe a test to see that I understand why I was punished?_

“I _did_ deserve it; I know I did. I was bad. I hurt Addie. I—”

            “I should have known to remove her from the situation.  We should have prepared better for the circumstances.  It wasn’t your fault.”

            “Thank you, Derek, but—”

            “No more apologizing, okay?  You let your instincts get away from you, but so did I, and I let mine go much too far.  The important thing is that you understand I won’t hurt you like that again.”

            “Yes, Derek, thank you,” he answers automatically, knowing Derek means he won’t _want_ to hurt Stiles like this again.

 Stiles silently vows to work even harder to be good so Derek won’t have to reprimand him like this again any time soon. It’s clearly upset the Alpha to have to dole out the punishment, and it only adds to Stiles’ shame to be such a burden in so many ways.

“How are you feeling? Are you still in pain?”

“I’m okay, Derek.  I’m healing as fast as I can. I’m well enough to get back to—”

“I’m not worried about tasks; I just don’t want you to hurt.”

“I’m not hurting, Derek; thank you.”

“I’m glad,” he says with a smile that looks strained. 

“I think it may be best if we rearrange a few things, but I don’t want you to think it’s a bad thing.”

“You’re good, Derek; everything you do is good. I—”

“We’re going to change the housing situation for a little while, and that should make things easier on everyone.”

_Change the housing? You are sending me away? Not out of the pack but away?_

Stiles fights the urge to plead against the decision.

_No, no I have to be grateful.  Whatever he wants to rearrange, I have follow the direction gladly because at least he’s still keeping me.  There are worse things. I should be grateful._

“There’s a house that belongs to one of the human allies of the pack,” Derek tells him.  “There’s some work to be done there, so I’d like you to go there with me a while and help.”

“Yes, Derek, of course.”

“And Isaac will come stay sometimes too; either Isaac or me or another packmate will always be with you.  It’s not a punishment; you’re not being separated from the pack, you understand?”

“Yes, Derek, thank you!”

_Thank you for the chance to redeem everything. Thank you for keeping me and not sending me away.  Thank you for not giving more punishment. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you._

***************************************************

 

            Addie falls asleep in her Pop’s lap, thumb in in her mouth and Rapunzel doll under her arm.  Collin is fighting sleep on the couch beside Isaac.  Across town Isaac’s betting that while Stiles recuperates in a calm, sedated sleep that Derek is wallowing in guilt over the events of the evening.  Honestly, maybe he should be.  Part of Isaac knows that Derek was just protecting Addie; the instinct to defend his child overwhelmed the loyalty he felt for his husband—especially since Derek doesn’t _really_ think of Wretch as part of Stiles.  Nevertheless, Isaac can’t close his eyes without seeing the carnage from before and hearing Stiles’ pleas.

            _I did the same thing,_ Isaac reminds himself. _When we were trapped in the basement, I lost control completely and shredded Stiles.  I should be able to empathize._

But mostly Isaac’s just pissed and worried as hell.  Addie whines in her sleep, thrashing in Pop’s arms despite his murmured comforts. 

            “Hey, hey, you’re okay, Addie.  It’s a just a nightmare.  You’re okay.”

            She wakes with tears in her eyes, holding tightly to her grandfather. 

            “Addie?” Collin says, moving to go sit with them. “Just a bad dream; that’s all.”

            “Nuh-uh,” she counters.  “It was real.  You hurt Stiles.”

            “I—I told you I didn’t mean to do that. He hurt you.  I was just—I’m sorry it happened. I—”

            “Don’t touch me!” she commands, jerking back when he moves to put a hand on her shoulder.  “I _hate_ you! I thought Stiles was being mean but _you’re_ the mean one! You _and_ Derek! You’re _bad, mean_ werewolves like the bad alphas that hurt him before!”

            Collin freezes at the words, mouth gaping open in horror as he turns to Isaac.

            “Collin, it was just an accident,” Isaac comforts.  “It—”

            Collin doesn’t stay to hear the end of the sentence before he bolts out of the room at top speed, heading for the door. 

            “Collin, wait!”

            “Isaac, no!” Addie whines when he moves to follow her brother.  “Don’t leave.”

            _I can’t just let him go. I don’t want to leave you here either. Then again, I don’t know what the hell I can tell him that I haven’t already. Maybe he needs time? I don’t’ know what he needs.  I don’t really know what any of you need; I’m just trying to keep us afloat here._

_I’m in so fucking far over my head; we all are._

************************************

 

            “I don’t like this,” Derek mutters from the driver’s seat.

            “I heard you the first thousand times you said that,” Isaac answers moodily.

            They’re waiting in the car as Addie speaks with Morrell, just out of earshot though Derek would prefer to eavesdrop.  Isaac pitched this plan first thing this morning, insisting they couldn’t—and probably shouldn’t—handle the situation themselves. Recognizing the potential for good in this doesn’t erase the nagging feeling of unease that comes with entrusting the wellbeing of people Derek loves to outsiders 

            _She just better not make it worse or something.  I mean maybe they don’t need to dwell on it and talk about it.  Maybe we just need to trudge forward.  Maybe she’s too nervous in there with someone she barely knows.  We should go in.  We should go check, just to be sure._

“Derek,” Isaac chastises when he reaches for the door handle.  “Not yet.”

            “She’s had plenty of time to—”

            “It’s been fifteen minutes.”

            “Fine.”

            Derek should have brought something for a distraction.  Isaac brought one of his textbooks to read through.  Derek just can’t stop wondering what the hell is going on in there; what is Addie talking about?

            _Is she scared of me? Or just mad? She hasn’t said a word to me since it happened.  Does she hate all this? Does she want to go someplace else? Would she even want me to come in there if I went to get her, or would she just want Isaac? Does she understand what happened and why? Is it too much for her? I bet Morrell thinks we’re absolute idiots to have taken the kids in and even bigger idiots for letting them meet Wretch.  Of course, she always thinks we’re idiots._

_And yet I’m trusting her with my kids._

_Maybe I really am an idiot._

The minutes tick by at an excruciating pace.  They’ll do this all over again in an hour when the sheriff drops Collin by and picks up Addie—that’s assuming Morrell doesn’t want some family session, which Isaac says she might suggest.  It’s all just way more than Derek wants to handle.  Everything about this clusterfuck has him itching to run, but he can’t just run away from this one; he knows that much at least. 

            Isaac’s phone rings just shy of the hour mark, and Derek’s out of the car and headed toward the office the minute Morrell’s name flashes on the screen. 

            “I’d like you and Derek to join us a moment please,” Derek hears through the phone. 

            “On our way,” Isaac replies.

            Derek’s surprised to find Addie contentedly playing with a dollhouse in the middle of the office floor.

            “Hey, Addie,” Isaac greets.  “Having fun?”

            “Miss Holly let me play with her dollhouse; isn’t it pretty?”

            “Sure is,” Isaac agrees.

            “Addie, why don’t you ask Derek the question we talked about?” Morrell prompts.  “Maybe we can talk about it.”

            She looks uncertainly form Derek to Isaac to Morrell and back to Derek again.

            “I don’t wanna,” she replies, dropping Derek’s gaze and going back to the toys.

            “He won’t be angry,” Morrell assures.  “Isn’t that right, Derek?”

            “Yeah, that’s right.  I won’t be angry,” Derek promises.  “Anything you want to ask is okay, Addie; I promise.”

            She frowns, still unsure.  

            “I don’t wanna,” she repeats, shaking her head for good measure.

            Derek looks helplessly at Isaac.

            _What else am I supposed to say to her?_

            “Why don’t you want to?” Isaac asks.  “You know you can ask us anything at all.  We won’t be mad.”

            She doesn’t answer, but the fearful glance she gives Derek is more than enough to shatter his heart and give a pretty good indication of the reason for her reluctance.

            “Are you afraid of me?” he wonders before he can stop himself.

            She shakes her head no and turns back to the dolls.

            “This is a safe space, Addie,” Morrell reminds gently.  “You can be honest; you can say whatever you’re feeling or wondering.” 

            “It’s okay; Come here,” Isaac encourages, stepping forward and reaching down arms to pick her up if she wants.  She accepts the invitation to be held, resting her head on Isaac’s shoulder so that her face is away from Derek.  She doesn’t say anything though, and Isaac prompts, “What d’you want to know, honey?”

            “Is—is Derek gonna act like—like those other Alphas to Stiles now?”

            Derek feels like he’s been punched in the gut, and it takes every ounce of control he can muster to keep from bolting out the door. 

            “What other Alphas?” Isaac asks, though he must know as well as Derek what she’s saying.

            Derek’s fighting tears of shame as she replies, “The ones that made Stiles so scared all the time and were mean to him, and—and I don’t _want_ Derek to be like that!”

            “Addie, I _promise_ you that it won’t be that way,” Derek assures. “I didn’t mean to hurt Stiles like I did.  I don’t want him to be scared.  I don’t want any of you to be scared.  I just want you to be safe, and when Stiles hurt you I—I was so scared for you that I wasn’t thinking straight.  It’s my job to protect you, and I didn’t stop Stiles from hurting you, and I just—I lost control; it caught me off guard, but it’s not going to happen again.   I won’t let it happen again.”

            She studies his face as he speaks, and Derek looks frantically to Isaac for further guidance.

            _What else do I say? What do I do? Our daughter’s afraid of me; how the fuck do I make things right? I have to make things right._

“You said nobody gets hurt in this pack,” she tells him.  “That’s what you tell Stiles and Damon when they get scared, but you still hurt him.”

            “I know.  I broke my promise to him, and I’m so sorry for—” Derek stops talking as his voice breaks.  “For all of it,” he finishes.

            _For letting Stiles hurt you.  For hurting him. For scaring you. For failing you as a dad and an alpha.  For not knowing what I need to say to you or how the hell to say it._

Addie’s expression transforms from skepticism to worry, and she says, “Don’t cry, Derek.”

            He wipes hurriedly at his eyes and turns away. 

            “It’s okay,” Isaac soothes.  “Derek’s just really sad all this happened and scared you.”

            Derek nods but doesn’t turn back until little hands pull at his pants leg.  He looks down to see Addie extending her arms up, so he scoops her up.  She buries her face in his shoulder and starts crying in earnest.  Derek doesn’t bother trying to stop his own tears, especially once he sees Isaac’s in a similar state.  

            “I’m sorry.  God, I’m so, so sorry, baby, but you know I love you don’t you? You know I wouldn’t hurt you or anybody if I could help it?”

            “Mmmhmm,” she answers with a sniffle. 

            “Good.”

            _Good. We’re good—well good enough anyway—good for now. Small victories._

 

***********************************

 

            Collin’s only been in the office twenty minutes when Morrell’s number lights up Isaac’s phone.  Derek’s settled down some after the progress with Addie, admitting that Isaac was right to push for them to get a mediator for this and nip it in the bud before things spiraled more than they have. 

            “Hello?”

            “I think we’re done for today.”

            “Oh—uh—okay,” Isaac replies.   “Should Derek and I—”

            “Just someone to walk him to the car,” she replies.  “He’s not willing to share just yet.”

            “I told you guys I don’t need to share anything,” Collin says in the background.  “I’m fine.”

            _So you’re still running with that line.  Awesome. So much for progress._

“Be there in a second,” Isaac says before disconnecting the call.  He looks over to Derek, “Well, at least Addie’s talk went pretty well,” he says with a sigh. 

            Collin doesn’t speak a word the whole ride back home.  While Addie’s slowly blossoming back into her usual chipper self, Collin’s sinking deeper into his melancholy.  He agrees to a run with Derek, but doesn’t open up then either. When Derek departs to go relieve Jackson of Wretch duty, Collin announces that he’s going to bed early.  Isaac wants to give the kid space if he needs it, but he can’t help checking in once Addie’s been tucked into bed.  

            “Go away,” Collin tells him when Isaac opens the door.

            “Collin, whatever you’re feeling; it’s okay.”

            _Angry? Scared? Confused? Hurt? Ashamed? All of those and more? Talk to me; let me in. Let me help._

            “Shut up,” Collin tells him, turning over in bed so his back is to Isaac.

            “ _Collin_ —”

            “I said shut up!” Collin commands, sitting up, fangs descending as he growls; in the next instant terror floods his face, and his heart rate spikes, only adding to the transformation as his claws extend. 

“I’m not trying to shift,” he tells Isaac fearfully.  “I can’t stop it.”

            “It’s okay; you’re upset.  Your control is a little shaky.  Breathe deep.  Take a second to calm down.”

            “Why can’t I control it?”

            “You’ve had an insanely stressful couple days, kiddo; of course your control is bad.”

            “But I can always control it.”

            He’s staring at the claws of his left hand with an expression somewhere between horror and disgust.  Isaac takes a step forward, but Collin retreats frantically, backing against the headboard; it’s so reminiscent of some of Stiles’ episodes that Isaac struggles not to ringe.

            “No! Stay over there,” Collin pleads.

            “You’re not going to hurt me,” Isaac soothes, guessing at what the problem is.

            “I might!” Collin persists, confirming Isaac’s suspicion. “I don’t know how to make them go back in.  I’m focusing; I’m trying, but I can’t.  I _can’t_ , Isaac! What’s wrong with me?!”

            “Hey, hey, Collin, look at me.” When he doesn’t immediately comply Isaac repeats. “Look. At. Me.”

            There’s tears in the boy’s eyes when they meet Isaac’s.

            “I don’t know what to do,” he laments.

            “It is perfectly normal to have control issues when you’re stressed,” Isaac assures.  “Nothing is ‘wrong with you,’ Collin.  It’s just something you need to work on; that’s all.”

            “I _have_ to be able to control it.  I could’ve—what if I’d hurt him so bad he couldn’t heal or something? I was supposed to learn how to take care of this version of Stiles! I wasn’t supposed to make it worse!”

            “Collin, you are still a kid; it’s okay if—”

            “I’m Alpha Elect.  I have to know how to take care of him! He—he thinks I’m important, and he’s right.  I’m  gonna have to be in charge one day, so I have to be like you and Derek and control it and—”

            “In case you’ve forgotten,” Isaac interrupts, “Derek lost control too.  You both did.  You were scared for Addie, and I don’t think either of you realized what you were capable of in that kind of situation.”

            “I don’t want to be capable of that.”

            “What if it had been a hunter who hurt her?” Isaac asks.  “Or some rouge wolf in our territory? What then?”

            “But it wasn’t; it was Stiles.”

            “One of an Alpha’s most important jobs is to protect the pack,” Isaac says.  “It’s an _essential_ instinct that you _and_ Derek and even me, as Second, and all the other betas need to have too.  But it’s just like all the other wolf instincts you have: there’s a time and a place to let them take over.  Now that you know it’s something you struggle with, you can work on it; Derek’s going to have to work on it too.  I bet he’d love some company when he goes to talk to Deaton about it tomorrow.”

            “He’s gonna talk to Deaton about it?”

            “Dr. Deaton sometimes has some insight that helps; understanding when you need help and where to go for it is _another_ important part of leading a pack.”

            “Yeah,” Collin agrees.  “So I can go with him to talk to Deaton? And we can figure out how to keep it from ever happening again?”

            “Yes, you can go, and hopefully it won’t ever happen again.”

            “Good.”

            Collin settles back on the bed, letting Isaac tuck him in, which he rarely wants.  Maybe Collin is a powerful, Alpha-Elect werewolf, but tucked under an outer space comforter with his head on a pillow shaped like a rocket ship, he just looks like any typical ten year old.

            “And Collin?” Isaac says after a moment or two of silence.

            “Yeah?”

            “The _most_ important part of being Alpha-Elect is the remember that you don’t have to be Alpha just yet.  You get to be a kid a little while longer,” Isaac reminds with a smile.  “Okay?  Let us be your parents; let us shoulder most of it.”

            “I’m not _just_ a kid.  I can do this stuff,” he persists.  “I’m almost _eleven._ ”

            “Not for another three weeks,” Isaac reminds, “and even then, don’t think that you have to get everything figured out right now.  The only thing I want you worrying about is what you want for your birthday, got it?”

            “But, Isaac, I—”

            “We’ll help you with your control.  You can go see Dr. Deaton with Derek.  It will all work out just fine; I promise,” Isaac interrupts, praying it’s a promise he won’t regret making.  “Just narrow down that birthday list, and get some sleep.”

            Collin huffs, but nods.  “Okay,” he drawls. 

            “G’night, kiddo.”

            “Almost eleven,” Collin recaps. 

            “ Hey, Stiles is _ancient_ according to you, and Pop still calls him ‘kiddo’.  You’re stuck with it ‘til you’re a hundred and three,” Isaac answers.  “Maybe longer.”

            Collin rolls his eyes at the comments, but he’s smiling; _that_ is the look Isaac likes to see on his kid’s face.  He hopes the worry stays away a while, but he doubts Collin will move past what happened anytime soon.  The kid is growing up too fast, partly because he’s trying so damn hard to behave like the Alpha he’ll be one day and partly because Derek, Isaac, and Stiles can’t quite shield the boy as much as they’d like too. 

            The all-too-familiar darkness is creeping into the back of Isaac’s mind, but he pushes it away.  He doesn’t have time to wallow; too many people he loves need him to be strong. 

            _Each day better than the next; that’s the goal._

_Today was better than yesterday.  Tomorrow will be better than today. Doesn’t have to be great, just better._

_I’m okay.  We’re all okay.  Everything’s okay._

_And tomorrow will be better._

**************************************************

 

            Stiles comes back with the can of paint he was apparently just holding splattering all over him and the linoleum of the downstairs bathroom.

            _Pea green? Seriously?_

“Stiles?” Derek calls.  “Everything okay in there? Are you hurt?”

            “This Exorcist Pea Soup green is _definitely_ not okay,” he answers back, “But I’m fine, yeah.”

            He hears Derek sprinting for the bathroom, and Stiles feels the usual combo of flattered and guilty at the elation on his face when Derek lays eyes on him. 

            “You’re back,” he says from the doorway.  “You’re you.”

            “Yep,” Stiles confirms with an awkward smile and a shrug.

            Derek pulls him into an embrace so tight that Stiles is having a little trouble breathing, and Stiles dreads to hear how long he’s been gone this time. 

            “You’re ruining that shirt you know,” Stiles says.  “I’ve got paint all over me.”

            “Don’t care.”

            “Derek, what’s wrong? What happened?”

            “I’m just—glad to see you.”

            “Thanks, but we both know hugs like that happen when we make it through serious shit.  What’s the matter? Have I been gone really long? Isaac okay? The kids?”

            “Everyone’s fine.”

            “I know that goddamn look, Derek.  Just _tell me._ ”

            Stiles hates these moments.  With Damon, he gets the download of the recent events immediately, five minutes tops and then he knows more or less all he needs to about the time he missed.  With Wretch, there’s nothing, and it’s absolutely terrifying.  It makes him feel like the possessed guy in a horror movie who wakes with blood on his hands trying to figure out what the hell happened; Derek’s look of trepidation is only increasing the usual anxiety.

            “You’ve been Wretch for five days, but, honestly, I was kinda expecting a really long stay for him this time.  We’ve—uh—had some—it’s been—this round was a bad one.”

            “What did I do?” Stiles asks, voice hitching all the horrendous possibilities that flash through his mind.  “Shit, Derek did I—”

            “It’s more what—uh—what _I_ did, actually.”

            “What _you_ did?” Stiles repeats dumbly. 

            Derek nods. 

            “I don’t understand.”

            “It was—it was all a big accident that just—everything fucking spiraled and—we were idiots to let the kids meet Wretch.”

            Guilt surges through Stiles. 

            _I should have known better than to be alone with them; you’re right._            

            “I’m sorry they did.  I told them to run so maybe they wouldn’t—”

            “I know; it’s not your fault.  We—they were doing pretty good with you so—”

            “Why would you even risk that! What the fuck were you thinking?!”        

            “You really think Collin was going to run away from you and leave you on the forest floor screaming in pain?!” Derek demands, rounding back on Stiles. “Don’t try to put this on me and Isaac!”

            “Well, it’s not like I could—”

“We were _all three_ idiots for not telling them anything about Wretch. They didn’t know what the fuck was happening, so Collin stayed with you; he did a damn good job with Wretch until Isaac got there and then—then he wanted to stay to learn how to help so Addie wanted to stay, too.  I thought—Isaac and I both thought—that giving Wretch rules was enough.  Wretch knew Collin was Alpha-Elect, so he respected the rank over automatically.  We weren’t going to keep them with Wretch the whole time necessarily.  But we thought they could get an idea of what to expect.  They were going to meet him eventually.  It wasn’t too bad; Wretch was fine.  It wasn’t that much worse than Damon until—”

            Derek’s righteous rebuttal deflates quickly, and the look of sorrow in Derek’s face is downright bone-chilling. 

            “Derek, what did I do?” Stiles asks again.

            Maybe he calls Wretch by another name, and Derek does the same; still, Isaac’s right whether Stiles admits it aloud or not—Wretch is Stiles and Stiles is Wretch.

            “What the fuck happened?!” Stiles persists when Derek doesn’t immediately reply.

            “You—uh—Addie threw a tantrum and she kicked me and—”

            “No,” Stiles interjects, sure he doesn’t want to hear the rest.  “No, no, no. Tell me I didn’t—I didn’t—fuck, she’s a lower beta did I—”

            “You didn’t mean to—he—Wretch didn’t mean to.”

            “I hurt her?”

            _Oh, my God; I hurt her.  I tried to punish her. No. No. No. Please, no._

            “She’s okay.”

            “But I did hurt her? I—”

            “That wasn’t really the problem.”

            “I attacked our daughter how the _fuck_ is that not really the problem?!”

            _Why don’t you seem insanely pissed about all this?_

            “Because then I attacked you,” Derek answers.

            “What?”

            “I—Collin too actually—we—we kind of lost it when you hurt Addie and—it—it was bad, Stiles; it was _really_ bad, on so many levels and just—it fucked things up.”

            “Shit,” Stiles mutters, millions of questions race through his mind about how it all happened and the aftermath, but he doesn’t want to make Derek relive all of it, not right now.  The haunted look in his eyes as he gives the mimimal explanation to Stiles is already too much guilt.

            _You shouldn’t feel guilty for losing your mind; I lose mine all the time._

            _I’ll talk to Isaac later for the whole story.  He didn’t say Isaac lost it, so maybe—wait, then where the fuck was Isaac? Why wasn’t he there to stop it? Why didn’t they get the kids the hell away from me sooner?_

“Addie’s mostly fine,” Derek says.  “Pretty sure she’ll be great now you’re back.  Wretch tried to stop the moment he realized what he was doing; she was healed before Deaton even got there.”

            _You had to call Deaton? Damn. You and Collin really did lose it, huh?_

“What about Collin?”

            “Less fine,” Derek answers, “but okay enough. The whole thing was too much for him on about a million different levels, but you know him; he doesn’t want to talk it out.  He just sits and stews and worries.”

            Stiles huffs.  “Gee. Who’s that remind you of?”

            “Shut up.”

            “So what he’s—guilty?  He was protecting his sister.  That’s a good thing.”

            “He’s never lost control like that; he—between the two of us, and you weren’t fighting back—if Isaac hadn’t stopped us when he did—Stiles, we—we could’ve fucking _killed_ you.”

            “Glad you didn’t,” he says with a smile, trying and failing to lighten Derek’s mood. 

            “So this is the Wretch plan now,” Derek says with a gesture to the house at large.  “Wretch here with a packmate at all times; your Dad at the house with the kids.”

            “Probably the plan we should’ve had from the beginning.”

            Derek nods in agreement. 

            “I think we all wanted to pretend Wretch wouldn’t be that bad for them,” Stiles says.  “You’re right though, we were fucking idiots not to prepare them better.”

            “Too late to do anything about it now.”

            _Is it? It’s only been six months; they could maybe decide to give it a go under a different roof.  I bet Melissa and Dad could tag-team it.  Hell Jackson might even—_

But as much as Stiles hates the idea of the kids dealing with his DID, he already can’t fathom a life where he doesn’t wake up to make Mickey Mouse pancakes and shoot off rockets in the afternoons and check homework and finger paint and all the other amazing things that come with being a parent.

            _Is that selfish? To keep them with us knowing the stress it puts on them? This is why I said we shouldn’t have kids._

_But we do; we have them, and they’re getting settled, and we need to try harder to be the kind of parents they deserve._

_I need to be the kind of parent they deserve._

_But I can’t; can I? Not really._

_*************************************_

            Isaac’s incredibly relieved to see how elated Addie is to see Stiles, rushing to him as he walks in the door as though his presence makes all right with the world.  She immediately starts regaling him and Derek with tales of “Jaws”, the goldfish Logan got this morning, and all the arguments she’s given Isaac as to why she should be able to have a goldfish, too.

            “Don’cha think, Stiles? If Logan’s big enough to take care of one, so am I. I’m four and a _half_.”

            “We’ll see,” he replies, and she sighs in disappointment.

            “That’s what Isaac said,” she bemoans. 

            “Something smells awesome,” Stiles says, changing the subject.   “You learn to cook sometime in the last week?” he asks Isaac.

            “Ha. Ha. Very funny.”

            Stiles is trying to make light of the time he’s missed, as always, and, as always, Isaac finds absolutely nothing funny in the fact that he’s missed out on a week of his life with his family.

            “It’s Lasagna,” Addie informs. 

“Out of a box,” Isaac expounds when Stiles raises a skeptical eyebrow.

            “ _That_ explains it.”

            “I helped Collin make the salad,” Addie says proudly.

            “Where is Collin?” Stiles wonders.

            “Tree house,” Isaac answers.

            _He lit out of here the minute he heard Derek on the other end of the line saying you were back.  I tried to talk him back inside, but it’s been a losing battle with him all week.  You’ve got to talk to him.  If not right now, then fucking soon._

“Ah,” Stiles says in reply.  “And how long before dinner?”

            “You’ve got time,” Isaac answers.

            “But you just got here,” Addie protests.

“We’ll be back in for dinner,” Stiles assures, kissing her temple and putting her down. 

            “Come on,” Isaac tells her.  “We’ll go ahead and set the table.”

 

******************************

 

            Stiles swears the walk to the tree house is twice as long as usual, but at the same time, he’s nowhere near ready to talk to Collin when he gets there.

            “Hey, kiddo,” he calls up. 

            “Hey, Stiles,” Collin replies quietly.  “I’m not really hungry so—”

            “Good, ‘cause dinner isn’t ready yet.  I came to talk for a minute.”

            “Oh.”

            “So can I come up?”

            “Maybe I’ll just come down,” Collin replies.

            “That’s okay; I can—”  Stiles begins, but Collin’s already halfway down the ladder in the next minute.  “Or, yeah, you can come down.  That’s cool too.”

            When Collin gets to the ground, he immediately moves away from Stiles.  He’s got his fists balled up at his sides, but when he catches Stiles looking he crosses his arms instead.

            “Glad you’re back,” Collin says with a smile that’s so forced he might as well have screwed it in place.

            “Me too,” Stiles says.  He tries to think of how to lead into this conversation before deciding he’s just going to take the plunge.  “Look Collin, about what happ—”

            “I’m gonna figure out how to control it,” Collin interrupts.  “Deaton and Derek and me worked on some kinda control exercise things, and they should help.  I won’t ever do anything like that again, Stiles; I swear.  Not to you or anybody.  I’m gonna have the best control that—”

            “Hey, hold on just a second,” Stiles interrupts, taking a step toward Collin, but Collin takes a step back to keep the distance the same.  “If anybody knows about losing control, it’s me; you don’t owe me any apologies or—”

            “Stiles, I hurtyou! I _really_ hurt you.  If Isaac hadn’t stopped us, we might’ve—”

            “Did you mean for it to happen?” Stiles asks.

            “No! of course not, I just—”

            “Collin, I know _exactly_ how you feel,” Stiles assures.  “Something happens that just sets you off,” he goes on.  “One minute it’s all fine, and the next you’ve got blood on your hands and you kind of recall what happened, but it’s like a dream or some movie you watched, not something that really happened with you calling the shots.  Am I right?”

            Collin nods.  “Yeah, just—”

            “And it scares the heck out of you,” Stiles supposes.  “Because you don’t really understand what happened, so you don’t really know how to keep it from happening again.”

            “Yeah,” Collin agrees, and the word comes out as a sob.

            “I’m tell you; I get it one hundred percent, and it’s happened to me more than once.   Every single time it happens, it scares me to death, but Isaac and Derek and Deaton and everybody help me get a handle on it.  They don’t hold it against me.  We’re a pack; we’re family.  We make mistakes, but we learn from them and help each other keep going, okay?”

            Tears are streaming freely down the kid’s face now.  Stiles wants more than anything to close the space and embrace him, but, of all people, Stiles knows the damage of initiating contact in the wrong moment.  If Collin still feels out of control, if he’s still to anxious to risk—

            Stiles thought process stops short as Collin all but tackles him with a hug.

            “I’m really glad you back,” he says, words muffled into Stiles’ shirt.

            “Me too,” Stiles agrees.  “I’m so sorry you had to go through all this; but I’m _really_ proud to hear how much you wanted to help.  Thank you for that. You got a good heart in you; it’s gonna make you one helluva Alpha.”

            “Swear jar,” Collin mutters, pulling back and looking up at Stiles with a shaky grin. 

            Stiles can’t help but grin back.  He waits to let Collin be the first to break the embrace, and then swings one arm over the boy’s shoulder as he starts to shepherd him toward the house. 

            “So little hungrier now maybe? Wouldn’t want to hurt Isaac’s feelings by not eating this hot meal he slaved over.”

            “Isaac just cooks frozen stuff.”

            “Trust me; we’re all safer that way.”

            The comment gets a huff of laughter from Collin, and Stiles relishes the sound, counting this conversation a victory.

 

****************

 

The night ends with bedtime stories and goodnight hugs and kisses.

The morning begins with chocolate milk and Mickey Mouse pancakes and cartoons.

Stiles is joking with the kids, and they’re giggling at his silliness.  Derek’s thrilled to see it all going well. 

_But what’s wrong with Isaac?_

Isaac is putting on a front good enough to fool the kids.  Stiles isn’t one to call him out over breakfast.  Still, there’s something brewing in Isaac’s mind.  Derek can read it in his eyes, and he knows he should inquire after it; he just can’t quite bring himself to shatter the bliss of reuniting everyone to a happy place with so little struggle. Not just yet.

Then the sheriff comes over and offers to take the kids down to the pond for a while, and Derek can’t help wondering if either Isaac or Stiles texted for the favor; it’s just as likely it was good timing.  The sheriff loves to dote on the kids.

_Maybe I’m reading too much into it; maybe Isaac’s fine._

Then Isaac says, “You two go on down to the pond with Pop; we’ll come meet you in a little bit.”

Collin knows enough to hear “the grown ups are going to talk now” in the statement, but he doesn’t say anything about it.  Addie could care less so long as someone is giving her a piggyback ride to the pond.  They leave out the back door singing “I’ve got a lovely bunch of coconuts…” at the top of their lungs.  Derek smiles as they go, but turns back somberly, bracing for whatever talk Isaac’s got planned out in his head.

 

**************************************

 

“So, I can guess where this is going,” Stiles says, starting the conversation off with a tone of slight annoyance.

_We’ve done this a million times._

_Granted, the kids do change everything._

“You want me to consider going back to Morrell, looking at options,” Stiles supposes.

Isaac nods.  “The situation is different than it used to be.  Maybe it’s time to reconsider.  You’ve been good helping me with the thesis preliminaries. Maybe—”

“A few basic facts,” Stiles replies.  “That’s it, not trying to sort through shit. I don’t want to start opening up doors that my brain shut for a reason!”

“Damon is one thing, but watching them meet Wretch—”

“That was a mistake! We should have planned better. We should have—”

“No! We shouldn’t _have_ to plan! They shouldn’t have to meet him at all!” Isaac asserts.

“Yeah? Well, newsflash, Isaac, if I get all the fucked up shit in my head into one person, they don’t see Wretch _some_ times, they see him _all_ the time.”

“You’re not like him,” Derek counters.

“Now? Isaac’s always reminding us that Damon and Wretch are really me,” Stiles retorts.  “At least now I can be pretty normal at least some of the time; isn’t that better than—”

“If it’s all one personality, then we can work on it; we could—”

“We can work on it while it’s still three.”

“And when it turns into four?” Isaac challenges.  “Or five? What about the next time you have to send your kids running because you think you’re switching to Wretch, and it turns out to be some other personality that’s even worse and—”

“We had this argument a month ago, and I told you to write your damn thesis and talk to Damon if you wanted to,” Stiles reminds, “but I’m not ready to—”

“You’ve been through hell a million times over, Stiles; you’re never _really_ going to be ready to face it; you’ve just got to bit the bullet and—”

“Don’t tell me what I’ve ‘got’ to do!”

“It’s not fair to yourself or to the kids that you won’t just _try_!”

“And if ‘just trying’ turns me into a cowering, blubbering mess _all_ the time? How the hell is that fair to me and the kids?”

“You don’t know it will do that.”

“And you don’t know it won’t. I’m not taking the risk.  I won’t.  We need to make some better plans, teach the kids how to use the epi pen sedative maybe, and—”

“Do you fucking hear yourself? They’re _kids_.  You want to teach _them_ to take care of you instead of facing your issues _yourself_?!”

Stiles shoves Isaac back before he can think better of it.  Derek breaks up the scuffle before it even really starts, pushing between the two of them.

“Oh, good, at least we know you’re listening,” Stiles snaps.   

“You want to know what I think?”

“No, I want you to stand over there and look pretty,” Stiles bites back.

“I think Isaac’s right.”

It’s the first time Derek has fully and clearly committed to a side in this, in all the arguments over the years.  He’s leaned in one direction or the other now and again, but he’s always said in the end that he didn’t want to choose sides.  Stiles gapes, open-mouthed at the assertion, feeling a bit like he’s been slapped in the face.

“What?” Stiles says, mouth gaping open.

            “I think that when it was just us three it was different, and there were a lot more shades of grey.  I think you were right when you used to say we shouldn’t have kids because of your DID.  But we _do_ have kids now, Stiles, and we cant change that; I don’t think any of us _want_ to change that, but we _can_ change the state of your DID—or try at least.  And it’s not fair that it effects you the most; it’s you who takes the biggest risk, but it’s the biggest payoff for you, too.  A chance to spend _all_ your time with them instead of just part of it? If you can’t do it for yourself, or for us, or for anybody else, I get that, even though I don’t like it. But they’re fucking awesome kids, and I think you should at least try to get better, I think you should do it for them.”

            “Fuck you,” Stiles spits in reply, voice low an deadly with the anger and frustration Derek’s declaration brings.  “You’re the last person who can say _anything_ about talking out feelings and sorting through shit.  Don’t you dare talk like I don’t care about what this does to the kids.  I would give my life for those kids!”

            “Just not your sanity,” Isaac points out.  “You’ll take a wolfsbane bullet, but you won’t see a counselor? Come on, Stiles. Just—”

            “You know what? Fuck you, too,” Stiles answers, turning on his heel and heading for the den.  “I don’t have to listen to this shit.”

 

********************************

 

            Isaac and Derek stand silently in the kitchen for several minutes after Stiles leaves.  Isaac’s got the awful déjà vu feeling that comes with these talks; it doesn’t help the feeling of exhaustion that’s been settling into his bones the past couple of days. 

            _I’m tired of having this fight. I’m tired of watching you spin your wheels, Stiles.  I’m scared to death that you’ll never get better and the hell they put you through will never let you have the quality of life you deserve.  I know it’s not fair; I can only imagine how terrified you are.  But I need you to try because I feel like we’ve managed to tread water this long, but we’re gonna sink eventually if you don’t get any better._

Isaac talks a deep breath, then another, trying to work out how to keep his composure and say what he needs to when he finally musters up the will to follow after Stiles and start round two, but it’s Derek who starts into the living room first.  Isaac follows, honestly curious to see where it goes next. 

            “I know what it probably sounds like to you, and I bet you think we’re ganging up on you; that’s why I didn’t want to ever pick sides, ya know?” Derek says.

            He doesn’t move to sit by Stiles, just stands kind of awkwardly, popping his knuckles in nervousness.  He looks mostly out of the window and only steals glances at Stiles. 

“But thing is,” he goes on. “You gotta know by now that we wouldn’t suggest this if we didn’t honest to God _really_ believe you could handle it and make progress and come out the other side better than you feel right now.”

“You can’t know that; You can’t know that it’ll go our way.”

“No,” Derek agrees, turning now to meet Stiles eyes as he finishes.  “But we do know _you_ , and you’ve always been a hell of a lot stronger than you think you are.”

Stiles is speechless for a moment after the declaration; he seems surprised by the words, as though he can’t quite believe the amount of faith in him Derek’s asserting.

“I just—what if—” Stiles finally begins to stutter.

“It’s scary as fuck,” Derek concedes, “but we need _you_ with us, Stiles; not Damon. Not Wretch.  You. And the switches are getting more frequent, and just—I’d rather risk this now, on terms you can pick, than keeping losing you over and over until one day we maybe lose you for good.”

“Just one hour with Morrell,” Isaac pleads.  “Hell, _half_ an hour.  _Anything_ you think you can—”

“Stop it,” Stiles cuts in.

“Stiles, we’re begging you—”

“Half an hour,” Stiles blurts.

“Half an hour?” Isaac repeats, hardly daring to believe the agreement in the words. 

“Half an hour,” Stiles confirms with a curt nod.  “And tell her I want the pretty dollhouse,” he adds, deadpan, sarcastic armor attempting to cover the clear anxiety at the acquiescence. 

Isaac can’t help smiling at the relief washing over him with this _huge_ step forward from Stiles.  “Pretty dollhouse,” Isaac agrees.  “Got it.”

“Those fucking awesome kids of ours are waiting,” Stiles says, clearly terminating the conversation for now as he rises from the couch.  “Come on.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo yeah, there you have the colossal clusterfuck that finally leads Stiles to confront his DID; hope it didn't disappoint :) 
> 
> thanks as per usual to SlitheringAngel for input and support! :D and thanks to all of you for reading!


	9. Chapter 8

            “Rise and shine, kiddo!” Stiles chimes merrily as they all burst into Collin’s room.  “Know what day it is?!”

            “It’s your BIRTHDAY!” Addie screams delightedly.  “And Stiles made French toast and bacon and sausage and—”

            “Big breakfast,” Collin interrupts, “I get it.  Give me two seconds to wake up, you munchkin.”

            “Awww _,”_ Addie whines. “Wake up, Collin! Come _on_!”

            “Better hurry; breakfast’s getting cold,” Isaac tells him.

            Collin rolls out of bed, hair sticking up in all directions and a little crust from drool on the side of his mouth.  Isaac’s glad of the signs that he’s gotten better sleep lately.  Collin has gotten more relaxed as Stiles has remained rather than either of his other personalities.  Isaac hopes the birthday party today goes as wonderfully as they’re planning.  Collin’s been talking non-stop about it all week. 

He wanted something to do with rockets—no shocker there.  They’ve got a kit for every kid to make a bottle rocket.  There’s a moon bounce to be erected in the front yard.  Astronaut ice cream will follow the space shuttle cake Stiles constructed.  Lydia’s already out front directing Jackson, Scott, and Derek to put streamers and balloons everywhere.  Isaac’s only fear is that Stiles will have some kind of episode.

Stiles offered to remove himself from the day.  He tried to talk Collin into just having a pack dinner for Stiles to attend and but abstaining from the public party; Collin wouldn’t hear of it, insisting he didn’t want a party at all if Stiles wasn’t going to come.  They was no way they were going to let him miss out on the normal, fun kid experience of having all his classmates over to get high on sugar and run amuck, so Stiles has an epipen of sedative in his pocket; there’s a million plans in place to protect the human kids coming.  Isaac just hopes they don’t need any of them.

 

******************************************************

 

            “Can we shoot ‘em yet, Derek?” Collin wonders, already sailing his rocket through the air by hand.  “Can we?”

            His face is alight with excitement, as it has been from the moment his first friends arrived.  Derek had been a little worried that parents wouldn’t want their kids out to the Hale house.  He’d tried to suggest other locations, but in the end, for the sake of mini rocket launches and for Stiles’ comfort level, the pack house made most sense.  It seems there are at least some parents are willing to look past the many oddities of the Hale family.  There’s eight kids in total—ten counting Addie and Logan who have their own little table off to the side where Isaac and Scott are helping them construct baking soda powered rockets.  It’s the perfect scene of a typical child’s birthday, and Derek can’t for the life of him wipe the grin from his face.

            _It doesn’t make up for all the shit he’s been through, but it’s something good at least.  A good memory to file away with all the other chaos._

“We’ll start shooting when everyone’s done building,” Derek answers.

            “But I can go first right? Since it’s my birthday?”

            “Yeah, you can go first,” Derek agrees.

            _Hell, I’m glad you’re being a selfish kid for two seconds._

The sheriff’s got the “launch pad” set up in the clearing near the house.  The kids rush out there one by one as they finish their rockets.  Derek grabs the video camera to film the proceedings, just hoping no one loses an eye or finger or anything.  John says he and Stiles used to do this all the time, but it’s been a long time since Stiles was ten years old—a lifetime or two ago it seems.  Jackson nudges Derek in the side.

            “Don’t get all tense, Sourwolf; they’ll be fine.”

            “Don’t call me Sourwolf.”

            “You would think after six years you’d learn to embrace the name.”

            “Fuck off,” Derek mutters.

            “Swear jar,” Jackson retorts.

            Derek sighs and rolls his eyes.  He turns on the camera, but the battery is nearly dead so he digs through the bag to change it. 

            “Hey, where’s Stiles?” Jackson wonders.

            Panic jolts through Derek as he scans faces, hoping Jackson just missed him or something.

            “Shit.”

            “I’ll find him,” Jackson replies.  “Film your kid’s rocket.”

            “He’s got his seda—”

            “I got it, Derek,” Jackson insists.  “It’s fine.”

            _God I fucking hope so._

*********************************************

 

            “Oh, there you are,” Jackson says when he finds Stiles’ upstairs in Damon’s room, wedged between the bed and the wall because somehow the cramped space feels safe after the open yard with all those non-pack people.

            _Look at him,_ Rachel beckons. _Look how worried you’ve made him. Pulled him away from the party._

“Hey,” Stiles replies, managing to look Jackson in the face for all of two seconds before his eyes dart back to the floor.

            “Voices?” Jackson supposes, and Stiles nods.  “Want me to get Derek?”

            “No, no, don’t get the alph—Derek.  I’m fine.  They’re just—really fucking persistent.”

            _He’ll get the alpha. Your weakness will ruin his good mood.  You’re such a disappointment.  You can’t make it through one day without losing your worthless mind._

“Want me to say anything?”

            “No.  I’m fine.  You don’t have to stay.”

            _None of them do. They don’t have to keep you.  They don’t have to bear your burdens.  They can walk away any time they want. They should; you know they should.  It would be so much easier to just get rid of you.  So much easier to lighten the load rather than dragging your dead weight along.  You don’t deserve to be here.  You don’t deserve this life.  You haven’t earned any of it.  You’ll never repay what they’ve given you. You’re a burden, beta.  Nothing but a burden…_

“I’m not a burden; I’m not; I’m not,” Stiles mutters as Rachel keeps going.

            Thomas’ voice joins hers, echoing condemnations in his mind as clearly as if he were kneeling back at their feet again.  It’s been years since he heard these voices out loud, and yet they scream through his mind as clearly as if they took him yesterday.  Alec’s voice rounds out the chorus, describing in detail the horrible punishments such a insignificant, burdensome beta deserves.  Stiles shuts his eyes and covers his ears as though it does any good; the voices just get louder and louder until he’s whimpering in pain.  He pulls one hand from his ears to press it across his mouth and muffle the sound.

            _What’s the use, beta? You know they’ll hear your incessant whining. They’ll hear you; they’ll come.  They’ll see how pathetic you are.  You’ll ruin it all, just like you always do._

_Because you’re a bad beta._

_One who must be punished._

_Because bad betas are burdens._

_And burdens are cut loose from the pack._

“They’re lying,” Collin’s voice cuts in, and Stiles can’t stop the sob that escapes because of _all_ people who had to hear his breakdown, Collin should have been spared; it’s his fucking birthday.

            “No, no; I’m sorry. Don’t listen. Don’t let me mess up your birthday.  I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I—”

            “You’re not a burden, Stiles,” Collin interrupts.  “You’re my dad.”

            Stiles looks up then, voices in his head shocked to silence at the declaration.  Collin’s standing in the doorway, Derek’s behind him with one hand on the boy’s shoulder like he was trying to stop him seeing the scene. 

            “So don’t believe their shit,” Collin goes on casually like he hasn’t just called Stiles his ‘dad’ out loud for the first time ever.  “Okay?”

            “Collin—”

            “Swear jar; I know,” he interrupts, forcing the mood ever-lighter.  “Lucky for me Uncle Jackson’s loaded and I bet there’s some serious cash in that card on top of the gift pile.”

            He’s grinning like Stiles isn’t huddled on the floor and freshly returned from a total meltdown. 

            “Don’t spend it all in one place,” Jackson answers with a roll of his eyes.

            “So—uh—can we do the cake now?” Collin asks, looking at Stiles for permission, rather than back at Derek.  “I don’t wanna do it without you, so we can wait if we need to.”

            “No, I’m okay,” Stiles asserts. 

            _I’m okay.  I got this. I’m good.  The kid’s right.  I’m not a burden; I’m his fucking Dad.  And I’ll be damned if the ghosts of three dead sadists is going to keep me from singing embarrassingly loud and off key as they light the candles._

“Cool,” Collin says, turning to head back out to the party.

            “You good?” Derek wonders.

            “For the moment,” Stiles answers.  “I can at least handle five more minutes.”

            “The real question is: can our ear drums?” Jackson jokes.

            “Hey, my voice is downright _angelic,_ Whittemore; I could’ve been an opera singer.”

            “Uh-huh; sure.”

            They make their way outside again.  Stiles reaches for Derek’s hand, and Derek’s firm grip anchors him to the moment.

            _Loved and useful and kept. I’m loved and useful and kept._

_And a Dad._

*********************************************************

 

            “That is one happy eleven-year-old,” Isaac comments as he climbs into bed alongside Stiles and Derek.  “I’d say the day was a hit.”

            “Mmmhmm,” Derek agrees sleepily. 

            “You know it’s not even midnight and you two are just about out cold,” Isaac comments.  “When did we get so old?”

            “Derek’s always been old,” Stiles mumbles with a teasing grin.  “Cradle-robber.”

            “Fuck you.”

            “Nuh-uh,” Stiles declines.  “’m tired.”

            The festivities with Collin’s classmates were tiring enough, but his pack party followed at dinner.  The usual games, then dinner, with the evening culminating in a trip to the pond and then nighttime capture the flag.  It never ceases to amuse Isaac how quickly they all revert back to being kids when the occasion arises.  

            “Stiles Hale too tired to fool around?” Isaac counters, leaving a trail of kisses down Stiles’ exposed collarbone. “I call bullshit,” he says as Stiles’ hums approval of the treatment.

            “Kids,” Stiles mumbles. 

            “Are asleep,” Isaac reminds, “and if they’re anything as boring as you two, they’re dead to the world.”  

            “Boring, huh?” Derek wonders, turning on his side to face Stiles and Isaac. 

            “Call it like I see it,” Isaac answers. 

            “We are not boring,” Stiles protests. 

            “Prove it,” Isaac challenges with a grin, leaning down to claim Stile’s lips. 

            At first Stiles doesn’t really respond in kind, and Isaac’s about to give up when Stiles lazily starts to return the sentiment.  Isaac smiles into the kiss then.

            “Told you it was bullshit,” he says when he pulls back.

            “Asshole.”

            “Is that any way to speak to the guy who’s gonna make you come?” Isaac wonders, hands traveling down to palm Stiles through his boxers, and Stiles lets out a moan that Derek silences with a kiss.

            Isaac has to admit he misses the freedom of being as loud and taking as long as they wanted, but settling for quick, quiet sex on the sporadic occasions they can manage it isn’t so bad a price to pay for having the kids here.  Now he thinks about it, they _are_ overdue for a “who wants to have a sleepover at Pop’s” kind of night though.

            _Maybe next weekend…_

           

 

*********************************

 

            “Derek,” Collin whispers, shaking Derek’s his shoulder.  “Hey, Derek, wake up!”

            “Hmmmm?”

            “Can I call Pop to come shoot rockets again? He said he’d come over when I got ready to today.”

            “I thought you had to rebuild it before—”

            “I did already.  I woke up early.  It’s ready to shoot.  So can I call Pop?”

            “Collin, what time is it?”

            “Um—kinda early I guess,” Collin admits.  “Pop gets up early though, right?”

            Derek opens one eye to peer at the clock by the bed.  The glowing red numbers inform him that it’s 5:56am. Derek groans and rolls himself out of bed.  

            _Six o’clock in the morning on a Sunday? Really kid?_

_God, I need coffee._

“I’ll come,” Derek offers.  “Pop doesn’t get up quite _this_ early.”

            “You’re the best!” Collin declares, rushing back out the door.

            Derek can hear him gathering everything up in the dining room.  He swaps pajama pants for sweat pants and grabs a shirt off the floor that smells mostly clean.  Collin’s already heading out the back door when Derek gets there.

            _It’s barely even light out._

_God, I need coffee._

“You coming?” Collin calls from the porch.

            “Give me a sec to wake up,” Derek requests.

            “Okay,” Collin replies, mood deflating a bit.  “Can I set it all up? I won’t light it yet. Swear.”

            “Yes, you can go set it up.  I’ll be right out.”

            “Awesome!”  

 

*******************************

 

            Collin’s birthday weekend has been a success beyond what Stiles hoped for.  Only minor setbacks, no switches, voice mostly quiet—until Sunday evening when the grease from the bacon Stiles is frying up to add to their burgers pops and sears Stiles’ skin a bit; he thinks nothing of it. It’s no worse than usual, but then it pops again and Thomas’ chuckle reverberates through Stiles’ mind, sending a chill down his spine.  

            _The skin barely stays pink for a second.  So disappointing.  But you know how to make it scald properly, don’t you beta? You remember what I like you to—_

“Shut up,” Stiles mutters.

            “Huh?” Addie asks from across the kitchen where she’s ripping up lettuce leaves for the salad.

            “Nothing,” Stiles replies, forcing a smile.  “You’re doing a great job over there,” he praises.  “Can you put in some tomatoes and carrots next?”

            “Yes, Stiles, I know how to make a salad,” she reminds.

            “Now if you could just figure out how to _eat_ a salad,” Stiles tells her with an exaggerated sigh.

            “But lettuce is _yucky_. And tomatoes are the yuckiest _ever_.”

            “Oh really?”

            “But not worse than peas.”

            “Good to know you’ve got all the yucky foods in clear order,” Stiles says with a grin.

            “The carrots are okay,” she concedes.  “Want me to put extra?”

            “Maybe just put some extra in a bowl and you can have a few with your burger.”

            “But you’re making French fries.”

            “You can still eat a veggie or two.  It won’t kill you. Plus carrots give you x-ray vision.”

            “Do not.”

“Do too.”

“You don’t have x-ray vision.”

            “That’s because I didn’t eat my carrots when Pop told me to.”

            She frowns at him, considering his logic.  It’s all he can do to hold back a laugh when she grabs a carrot and begins to munch it while using her other hand to start tossing in cherry tomatoes.  Thomas is still muttering odious threats and reminders and condemnations in the back of Stiles’ mind, but he tries his best not to focus on the words, busying himself with setting out all the condiments and chips and whatnot so they can sit down to eat while the burgers are still hot.  It doesn’t quiet the voice, but it helps a little.  He figure he can make it through dinner before it gets to be too loud in his head.

By the time diner rolls around, Stiles knows it won't be long before he's totally overwhelmed. He wills his hands to stop shaking as he tries to stuff his face full of bacon cheeseburger.  It’s driving him insane to spend so much effort getting a damn French fry to his mouth without missing or at least sending ketchup into his lap. 

_I don’t have any fucking reason to this worked up.  Everything is fine._

_Is it?_ Thomas wonders.  _You don’t look fine. You look like a petrified, pathetic little—”_

“Stiles?” Derek’s voice interrupts.

            “I’m sorry, Alpha. I—” Stiles stops the response before it gets away with him.  Forcing a smile as he turns to look at Derek, making a point to meet his eyes though it worsens the shaking; he _hates_ the wounded look in Derek’s eyes at the slip.  “I mean—sorry what’d you say?” he amends.

            “Pass the mustard?” Derek repeats.

            “Sure.”

            “You sound like Damon again,” Addie informs him across the table.

            “Yeah, I know,” Stiles says wearily; it’s happened a few times now, someone catching him off guard and bringing out the conditioning. 

            “Why?”

            “I wish I knew, kiddo.”

            “Does it mean Damon’s comin’ back soon?”

Stiles tries not to resent the hopeful tone in her voice.

            _Honestly, I almost wish he would.  I’d love to shove some of this bullshit back on him.  Maybe that makes me horrible, but it’s the truth.  He can have the voices, and the programmed responses and the damn tremors and all this shit._

            “I dunno,” Stiles answers.

            “Is he gonna sound like you when he comes?”

            “I’m not sure.”

            “Is—”

            “Addie,” Isaac interrupts.  “Enough questions for now.”

            _Yes enough questions.  Don’t upset the delicate little rose bloom,_ Rachel taunts, chiming in alongside Thomas.  _God, beta, you’re revoltingly pitiful; you know that don’t you?_

Stiles clenches his jaw against the urge to argue with her aloud. 

            “You hear them, don’t you?” Collin guesses.  “You’ve been hearing them since before supper.”

            Derek and Isaac have almost always been able to spot the signs, but the fact that his son can see the signs of the crazy too now makes it a million times worse.  Stiles pushes his chair back from the table. 

            “Stiles, I’m sorry,” Collin says quickly. “I didn’t mean to—”

            “Not your fault, kiddo.  I just need a minute.  I’ll be right back.”

            It’s a lie of course.  He’s really just hurrying to get out of earshot so the kids won’t hear when he starts arguing with the alphas out loud. 

 

**************************************

 

            Stiles is screaming at the top of his lungs by the time Isaac catches up with him. 

            “You sons of bitches, you’re fucking dead! Ripped apart by the pack you underestimated.  Get the _fuck_ out of my head!” he rants.

            He swings a punch at a nearby tree, and Isaac can hear the bone crack when Stiles’ fist connects.  It gets a sharp gasp of pain from Stiles, but he opens his eyes to look at Isaac.

            “Fancy meeting you here,” he comments.  “Lovely evening for a stroll, huh?”

            “Anything I can do?”

            “I’d tell you to just claw out my eardrums, but they’re not really the problem,” Stiles says bitterly. 

            He’s pressing at the broken bones in his hand, furthering the injury rather than letting it heal.

            “Stiles, don’t,” Isaac protests.

            “It helps,” he answers.  “Don’t worry about it.  Lesser of two evils.”

            “Yeah but—”

            “You realize it’s only been a few weeks?” Stiles asks.  “We haven’t even _begun_ to hit the major issues.  She’s just trying to get an understanding of the various personalities—whatever I can tell her about me and Damon.  The stuff she got from you about Wretch.  We’re just scratching the surface and already the voices are back and the tremors and—”

            “And you’re taking them in stride.  You’re doing great; don’t belittle that.”

            “Yeah, but it’s going to get worse before it gets better. That’s how it works, right?”

            “Maybe not. Maybe you’ll just have a little bit of a rocky patch; maybe it won’t be that bad.”

            “Maybe,” Stiles concedes, but it’s clear he doesn’t believe that will be the case; to be honest though, Isaac doesn’t either.  “I’m good for a while,” Stiles says.  “They finally shut the hell up.  Let’s get back to dinner.”

 

************************************************

 

            “Okay, bed time,” Derek announces as the credits for Atlantis roll.

            _Thank God,_ Stiles thinks.  He can still barely keep his eyes open; it seems like everything takes twice the energy these days.

            “I _still_ have the same bedtime as Addie?” Collin complains.

            “We’ll talk about it tomorrow, but as of right now, yes.”

            “ _Derek_.”

            “Oh, come on.  It’s not the end of the world.  You gotta be worn out.  You woke up at the crack of dawn,” Stiles says.  “I’ll tuck you in.”

            “I don’t need tucking in. That’s for babies.”

            “Is not,” Addie pouts.  “Right, Stiles?”

            “Of course it’s not for babies,” Stiles agrees with a pointed look to her brother.

            He sighs heavily.  “Fine.  Tuck me in or whatever.”

            Addie trills on about which book she wants Derek to read her.  Stiles follows Collin to his room.  He hangs back in the door, not wanting to crowd the kid.  He remembers being this age well enough, even if it seems several lifetimes ago now.  He knows Collin values his independence even more than most kids his age.

            “So are you tucking me in or what?”

            Stiles smiles at the invitation in the words.  “Wasn’t sure if you were serious or just placating your sister.”

            Collin shrugs in response, which does nothing to answer the question.  He climbs into bed and Stiles helps him pull the covers up around him. 

            “Hey, Stiles?”

            “Yeah.”

            “I really didn’t mean anything by it when I asked at dinner if you could hear the voices.  I just—I thought if we knew that was what was wrong—”

            “Collin, you didn’t do anything wrong with that; it was nice of you to try and figure out what was going on with me.”

            “But I just made it worse.”

            “No, you didn’t.”

            “When you came back with Isaac your hand was broken and—”

            “That was—I just got frustrated because I was kind of—overwhelmed by it, but you didn’t cause the voices, you didn’t make them worse, you don’t have _anything_ to feel bad about, okay?”

            _That’s my job.  I’m the one putting you through this shit. I’m the one who should be worried and feel guilty and tread carefully._

“In fact,” Stiles goes on.  “You usually help with the voices.”

            “Huh?”

            “You saw yesterday, at your party,” Stiles reminds.  “I know I was probably muttering out loud.  I was honestly about to give in and use my medicine, and then you said what you did—about me not being a burden.”

            “Well you’re not,” Collin says simply.

            “But they made me believe I was,” Stiles explains.  “They really, really did, and that’s what they try to convince me all the time: that I don’t belong here with the rest of you, so saying things like that, it _really_ helps.  You _do_ help, kiddo. More than you know.”

            “Really?”

            “Would I lie to you?”

            “Is Santa real?” Collin challenges, glint of mischief in his eye.

            _This little fucker._

Stiles rolls his eyes in response, mentally pleading the Fifth. 

            “Okay, okay, I’m kidding,” Collin says.  “Don’t just tell me I help though—like how you tell little kids they’re helping when they’re really just making a mess.”

            Stiles suspects he’s referring to the tendency Stiles has to let Addie “help” in the kitchen by just playing with some flour and water “play dough” 

            “I want to _really_ help,” Collin persists.  “Because you _do_ belong with us.”

             The earnestness of the sentiment has Stiles fighting tears, especially as thin as his emotions are stretched these days. 

           “Good,” Stiles says.  “’Cause you’re totally stuck with me.”

            “You’re stuck with me, too.”

           “Sure you’re not too old for parents yet?”

           "Isaac said I was stuck with ‘kiddo’ until I was a hundred and three.”

          “Hundred and three at _least_ ,” Stiles agrees. He rises from the bed, planting a quick kiss on Collin’s forehead.  “’Night, Kiddo.”

            “’Night, Stiles.”

           Stiles shuts the door behind him and leans against the hallway wall for just a moment, gathering his thoughts, still fighting tears, and willing away the awful knot of guilt and shame that's ever-present in his gut these days.

            _It's all going to be okay though,_ he tries to reassure himself.   _It’s gonna be hell.  I’m opening Pandora’s box with this therapy reconciliation stuff, but it’s worth it for their sakes. If we can just all make it through the initial insanity, it’ll be worth it._

_I’m not a burden; I’m a dad._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so yeah, mostly fluffy I guess? As close to fluff as I get lately :P I thought we all deserved a slight reprieve for a sec...
> 
> thanks to all of you for reading!


	10. Chapter 9

            Stiles is quiet today, lost in his own thoughts and completely distracted from the rest of the world.  Derek thinks he hates the quiet worse than the muttering—of course he changes his mind on the days when Stiles argues incessantly with long-dead alphas.  Derek’s sticking close to the house, doing some odd jobs that needed attention rather than running errands or some such; at the moment, he’s trying to figure out why the hell the icemaker stopped working.  When he left the den, Stiles was still sitting on the couch in his pajamas though it’s well into the afternoon; it was all Derek could do to convince him to get out of bed this morning. 

Addie’s in there with him; she knows he’s “having a sad day” and she’s acting accordingly, watching cartoons and amusing herself for the most part, accepting that it’s not a tea party and dress up kind of day—and Derek’s “not the same” though he’s not beneath donning a feathery boa if she asked.  Honestly it would be better than this infernal icemaker.  He’s kind of glad Addie’s content enough to hang around Stiles though; it seems like her presence helps force him out of his funk a little bit.  Derek’s pretty sure the only reason Stiles ate anything at all today is because Addie keeps insisting on helping Derek to make him his favorite things like Stiles does when anyone else is sick.

            “Hey, Stiles?”  He doesn’t answer, so she tries again.  “Stiles?”

            “Hmm?”

            “Are you too sad to play Candy Land?”

            _That’s good. That’s simple enough_. _Play with her. Get your mind off whatever darkness in swirling to the surface today.  Come on, Stiles. You can do it._

“We can play a little while,” he agrees. 

            “Yay!” Addie celebrates.  “I’ll get it and set it all up and everything,” she tells him.  “You wait here,” she instructs, as though Stiles might suddenly regain his normal vivacity and find something else to do. 

Derek hears her dash down the hall and up the stairs to get the game.  He decides to give up on the icemaker for now and join them in the den. 

“You wanna play too, Derek?”

“Yep.”

“Stiles, you can go first.”

He smiles at her, small and forced, but the good intent is there.  He reaches for the stack of cards obligingly.

            “Thanks, Addie.”

 

*************************************************************

 

            It’s a bad day, and Stiles hates most that he can’t put a finger on _why_.  The memories and voices and conditioning that’s trying to break out just pile up in his mind and the weight is more than he thinks he can bear.  He hauls himself out of bed for Derek’s sake.  He chokes down two bites of pancakes and a strip of bacon for Addie’s sake.  He tries not to drown in guilt as Addie’s face falls when he doesn’t take her up on the offer to play a second game of Candy Land; he should play, and part of him really wants to.  It’s just that at the moment the mere act of existing feels so overwhelmingly exhausting that he can’t quite muster the fortitude to do much more than sit on the couch and let his eyes glaze over as Derek and Addie start the second game without him.

            _I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.  Morrell swears it’ll get better with time; at least I’m not freaking out. Being boring is way better than losing my shit, right? Hopefully? Less mentally scaring at least?_

_Fuck, I’m pathetic.  I should get up. I should fucking do something. I should contribute._

_But I can’t._

_I want to._

_But I can’t._

_I want to…_

_But I can’t…_

The sound of a car pulling up breaks Stiles from his fruitless wonderings.  Addie jumps to her feet, running toward the front window. 

            “It’s Pop! And he’s got pizzas! Look Derek!”

            _Look, Derek.  Look up. Please, please look up.  I’m right here.  Please just look up.  Come on, Derek, look up._

_The wind is whipping across the roof of the warehouse, stirring the dust in the gravel.  It should be carrying Stiles’ scent to them.  He’s seen Jackson run by already without so much as a second glance.  They’re trying to track him; they’re looking, but they can’t pinpoint it._

_Just like Thomas said._

_“I told you there’s no point in resisting us,” Thomas says.  “Give up; give in.  Make it easier on yourself.”_

_“Of course, it’s a lot more fun for us if you keep at the futile resistance,” Rachel admits.  “I do love watching you piss off Alec.”_

_Stiles longs to scream a retort in her face. He wants to throw punches and fight like hell while he shrieks for the others to come and find him.  But whatever the hell they jammed into his jugular left him entirely incapacitated.  He’s thinking it’s some derivative of the kamina venom, but there’s really no telling.  All he knows is that he’s watching helplessly as those who could—and are trying—to save him get farther and farther away._

_Come on, Derek! Look! Derek, Look! I’m begging you.  Please, God, just let him look up.  I want to go home.  I want this to be over.  Please, please. I’m right here.  Come get me, Derek; just look! I’m right here!_

********************************************************

 

            One second Stiles is practically catatonic on the couch.  The next he’s screaming Derek’s name like he’s dying, sobbing as he flails against invisible adversaries.

            “Look, Derek.  Look up. Please, please look up.  I’m right here.  Please just fucking look up! I’m right fucking here! Look at me, Derek! Look at me!”

            “Stiles, I’m here. I am right here with you.  Snap out of it.”

            “Derek, what’s wrong? Is he hurt?”

            “He’s okay; it’s just a bad memory.  Go outside to Pop, Addie.”

            She doesn’t need telling twice, fleeing out the door in an instant.  Stiles’ shrieks only get louder; Derek’s attempts to hold him—or touch him at all for that matter—only make him flail more wildly; it seems there’s little to do but wait and keep shouting reassurances in an attempt to break through whatever memory this is. 

            Derek feels sick at the implications of the words.  _If_ this is a memory, there was some point at which Derek was maddeningly close to Stiles in the early days of his captivity, a moment in which Derek had only to look up and see Stiles there. 

            _There was a chance to rescue you and we missed it, didn’t we?_

_We always missed it._

_I always miss it._

_Didn’t know they took you to your Dad’s until you were long gone.  Walked past the house on Grant a million times not knowing it was ever a hideout. Had no idea you were there the night they tried to kill the Whittemores.  Now whatever the hell this is? How many times were we so close to you? How much agony could we have spared you?_

 

**************************************************************************

 

            “Isaac, I can help,” Collin insists even as they pull into the sheriff’s driveway.  “You _know_ I can help.”

            “I do,” Isaac agrees, “but right now I need you to help Addie; let me and Derek take care of Stiles.”

            “Pop has Addie.”

            “And Pop is human.  I need the peace of mind knowing you’re here if she has a tantrum or just trouble controlling because it’s been a bad day.  Can you do that for me? Stay so I don’t have to worry?”

            “Yeah, okay, fine.”

            “Thank you, Collin.”

            “I want updates,” he informs, “and if you need me or—”

            “We’ll keep in touch,” Isaac swears as they get out of the car, putting a hand around Collin’s shoulders as they walk up to the house. 

            _Just stop sounding so damn grown up._

            “Hey, kiddo, how was school?” Pop wonders.

            “Fine.”

            “Hungry?”

            “No.”

            “Oookay then, I see we’ve got some cheering up to do.”

            “I don’t need cheering up.  Stiles is having a bad day; we should be going home,” Collin retorts with a glare up to Isaac.

            “My job; not yours,” Isaac says.

            “Yet,” Collin interjects.

            “In the meantime, if you could lose the ‘tude I’d appreciate it,” the sheriff says.

            “Lose the ‘tude?” Collin repeats.  “Really?”

            “Hey, I’m hip; I know the lingo.  I—”

            “No, Pop.  Just no,” Collin says with a roll of his eyes. 

            He walks past his grandfather and into the house, leaving the sheriff and Isaac alone on the porch.  The Sheriff sighs heavily and honestly Isaac wishes he could just retreat here for a night or two along with the kids rather than face whatever is waiting at home.

            “You’d better get back to them; Derek was pretty messed up over the whole thing.”

            Isaac nods.  “Thanks for keeping the kids.”

            “Of course.”   

            “I’ll—uh—call you guys when I talk with them and kinda get a better idea what we’re dealing with?”

            “Sounds good, but, Isaac?”

            “Yeah?”

            “Derek talks to you; and Stiles talks to both of you; who do _you_ talk to?”

            “I talk to them.”

            “Okay,” the sheriff says, though the skepticism in his voice is undeniable.  “Just—you can call me with more than updates and carpool logistics.”

            “Yeah, I know, Pop; thanks.”

            “Any time.”

            The drive home seems to take forever, and Isaac’s apprehension at whatever this flashback was only worsens.  He’s jittery as hell by the time he parks the car and walks in.  There’s no sign of either of them, but he follows their pulses to the bedroom.

            “Knock, knock,” he says, rapping his fingers on the door lightly as he pushes it open. 

            Derek’s laying on the bed.  Stiles is resting too, head on Derek’s chest and their hands clasped firmly.  Derek forces a smile for Isaac’s sake, but Stiles just closes his eyes again.  Isaac sees the tear that escapes and makes its way down the crease of Stiles’ nose, and he climbs on the bed with them, reaching to wipe it away.

            “Don’t wanna talk about it,” Stiles murmurs.  “It fucking sucked.”

            “Okay,” Isaac agrees.  “How do we help?”

            “This is good,” Stiles replies, reaching for Isaac’s hand with his free one.  “Just—uh—stay a little while.”

            “Sure.”

            “Kids okay?”

            “They’re just fine, Stiles.  Don’t worry.”

            “I always worry.”

            “We’re parents; I’m told it’s our job, but your Dad’s got it under control.  They’ll have fun, like they always do.”

            Stiles sighs heavily but says no more.  They settle into the usual tangle of limbs, and Isaac’s grateful this is a bad day that contact can soothe.  It doesn’t make him feel like he’s doing much, but it’s better than only being able to sit miserably by and watch.  He drifts off to sleep after a little while, and Isaac isn’t surprised at all when he wakes screaming fifteen minutes later.

            “Stop! Please! Come back! Look at me! Come back!” Stiles shrieks, fighting their hands as they try to hold.

            “We’re here. We’re right here. You’re safe; you’re home; you’re okay,” Isaac promises.

            Stiles clutches to every inch of them he can reach like a drowning man to a life preserver.  They end up kind of sandwiching him between them in an embrace.  It’s a solid five minutes before his breathing evens out and his pulse normalizes.   He pulls away, heading for the door, and Isaac’s not sure if they should follow.  In the end, he wants to at least _try_ to get some information out of Stiles in hopes of understanding what’s going on in his head, so he rises to follow.  Derek’s two steps behind him.

            “Mind the company?” Isaac wonders when they locate Stiles on the back steps.

            “No.”

            “Wanna talk about it?”

            Stiles just kind of shrugs, but it’s not a refusal; Isaac waits patiently in hopes that it comes to fruition, but it seems Derek’s not so patient at the moment.

            “How close were we?” he asks, voice close to breaking.  “We—you—”

            “Doesn’t matter,” Stiles drones.  “It’s done.”

            “Yeah, but we should have— _if_ I had looked up—”

            “Well, you didn’t, Derek,” Stiles snaps, “So there’s no point in dwelling on it now.  It’s over.  They’re dead. Stop beating yourself up.”

            Derek won’t of course; Isaac knows he’ll be wallowing in guilt over this.  Nevertheless, he nods acquiescence to Stiles statement.  There are a few beats more of quiet between them—a redbird chirps somewhere close by—and the Stiles looks over at them and begins to talk.

            “You realize it’s the first flashback I’ve had in—what—two years? Something like that?”

            “You had one last—”

            “No,” Stiles interrupts.  “ _Damon_ had one.”

            “You’re Damon.”

            “It’s not the same,” Stiles replies.  “Sure he’s me or whatever the hell you want to categorize it as, but I don’t—I just _know_ what happened with him.  Like I saw a movie clip of the flashback, ya know? This—today—I _felt_ it—wind on my skin and sedative in my veins and that _crushing_ panic and desolation that—”

            His emotion chokes off his words, and Stiles turns away like they won’t notice the tears streaming down his face.

 “How is this the right choice?” he asks when he composes himself again.  “How the hell is this better? Letting them fuck up my life and scare the hell out of me from beyond the grave? _How_ is this the best plan?”

“Because you can get back to no flashbacks one day,” Isaac assures.  “You can do it, Stiles.  It’s just going to take time and—”

“Well, maybe I think they’ve had enough of my time!”

“Stiles, you need to get better. You need to—”

“To walk around worrying what’s going to send me back to them next time? To feel their hands on me and hear their voices and scream myself hoarse hoping for rescue that _didn’t fucking come!_ ”

He might as well have twisted a knife in Isaac’s gut for the hurt the words bring. 

“Stiles, I looked _everywhere,”_ Derek swears.  “I would’ve done _anything_ to—”

“I know; I know. I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair. I just—”

“You’re right.  We’ve let you down before, more than once, but this isn’t about us.  It’s about _you_ having a _full_ life of your _own_ ,” Isaac persists.  “Not one that you have to share with the scar tissue personalities they made in your mind.”

“Maybe I don’t mind sharing so much.”

            “Maybe we _do_ ; besides, you deserve—”

            “I deserve to have to cope with ripping my mind apart and sewing the fucked up bits back together? _Again_?! What if I can’t handle this shit anymore? What if all the strength went into coming back to you guys the first time? What if I just end up losing my fucking mind altogether? Because that’s what it feels like! It feels like I’m unraveling entirely, and it’s got to get worse before it gets better! It’s bullshit! It’s not fucking fair—not to me or you two or the kids or the pack or _anyone_.  I swear to God I wish I could get that spell from Lydia to resurrect the bastards just so I could rip them apart again! Five _years_ and I’m still trying to pick up the pieces!”

            “ _We_ are picking up the pieces,” Isaac corrects.  “You’re not alone; maybe we can’t do the healing for you, but we are gonna be here _every_ step of the way, Stiles.  You gotta know that.  You’re not alone with this.  We’re a team; whatever it takes.”

            “Whatever awesomeness or hellish shit may come,” Derek adds quietly, the soft sound of the repeated vow leeching away the hostility of the moment.

            Stiles face softens, frustration and anger still present but waning.  He looks like he wants to either punch Derek in the face or fuck the hell out of him, Isaac can’t quite tell which, but he knows which he’s hoping for.

No sooner has the thought crossed his mind than Stiles surges forward to crash his lips into Derek’s.  It’s frantic and rushed, but sometimes that’s the best pace for them—try not to think too much and let the euphoria block out the frustration and confusion and pain.

            “God, I fucking love you,” Stiles pants when their lips part.  “Both of you—I just—I don’t want to lose what we’ve got right now. I don’t want to—”

            Derek silences Stiles’ fears with another kiss, slow and deep this time, and when he pulls back he says gently, “Worrying about it won’t help, Stiles; you’re doing your best, and that’s all anyone can ask.  It’ll get better.”

            “And in the meantime,” Isaac says, with a grin.  “I can think of a distraction or two…”

             

  
*******************************************************************

  
  
            Stiles’ stomach flutter with excitement the moment Isaac’s words register in his mind.  His heart heartbeat kicks up into overdrive, first time in nearly a week he’s felt the _pleasant_ type of racing pulse rather than the panic-enduced hysteria he’s getting used to again.

Isaac leans in, kissing Stiles eagerly, leaving him breathless when he pulls away.  Stiles eyes flit back over to Derek, drinking in the adoration with which Derek regards the two of them. Stiles’ lips meet Isaac’s for another kiss, parting only to begin stripping of the clothing that holds them back from further contact.   Stiles never ceases to be amazed at the effect these two men have on him.  He’s not a teenager anymore, they’ve barely begun the interlude and yet Stiles already feels dazed from the few kisses, relishing the heady scent of all of the lust wafting around them in waves with each breath.

            “Yeah, I’m definitely a fan of this distraction plan,” Stiles mumbles, reaching to pull Isaac in close so that he can seal their lips together again.  

He lets his fingers slide up the back of Isaac’s neck and into his hair, soft and silky as it tangles around Stiles’ fingers, allowing him to keep Isaac close and kiss him breathless.  Stiles senses Derek’s movement, and reaches for him as Derek steps up behind him. For just a moment, the sensation makes him feel trapped.

 _No escaping this,_ Rachel taunts.  _Just move as we tell you, beta.  Be good.  You want to be good for us, don’t you?_

Stiles tenses for just a moment, fighting to tune out the voice.

            _No, you fucker, you don’t get to be here. You don’t get to take this away.  I’m safe now.  I’m loved here._

Stiles breathes in the scent of Derek and Isaac, reminding his senses that he’s got nothing to be afraid of.   The sensation of his soft lips and prickly-soft stubble are an exquisite contrast against the skin at the back of Stiles’ neck; it’s something Stiles has learned to hone in on as an anchor, a sensation he never felt with the clean-shaven alphas.  He’s never told anyone else that, a small, secret trick that always feels like a victory when it helps to dissolve the anxiety.  He drinks in the feel of Derek nuzzling into his neck and pulls Isaac in even closer to him until the three of them press flush together.

_Not trapped. Not crowded. Safe._

_God, I love them so fucking much.   Is it so much to ask that I could just be happy with them and forget all the other baggage that weighs us down? I just want to build a fucking hallmark card life full of boring, cheesy, hilarious memories without the other nightmares that tend to get in the way._

            “Maybe we should head back to the bedroom,” Derek suggests against Stiles’ ear, the hot breath sends a shiver coursing through Stiles.  “Or call it a night? We could just veg out on the couch and—”

            “You trying to shortchange us, Sourwolf?” Stiles teases.  “’Cause we’ll have this party without you.”

            “Just weighing options.”

            “How often do we have the house to ourselves anymore?” Stiles asks.   “Might as well make the most of it before we call for the kids to come home for the night.”

            “Bedroom it is then.”

Stiles honest to God almost whines at the loss of contact when they part to walk back into the house.   As they start down the hall, Stiles turns to walk backwards, giving the two of them his best saucy wink and come-hither finger curl that garners a burst of laughter from Isaac and an eye-roll form Derek. 

“What? You know I’m damn sexy,” Stiles informs with a grin.

            Stiles delights in the mischievous glint in Derek’s eye as Derek stomps his foot on the floor to make Isaac think that he’s about to take off after Stiles; the tease gets the desired effect, and Isaac moves to a sprint after Stiles, but Derek shoots out a foot to trip him.  The two of them let out laughs that are reminiscent of schoolgirl giggles as they tussle with each other, moving after Stiles; Stiles just chuckles and turns to walk normally to their bedroom, rolling his eyes at his unreasonably adorable husbands, filing the memory away for a rainy day.

            Isaac and Derek tumble into the room, nearly knocking Stiles over as they scuffle. Stiles steps to the side allowing the two to topple over onto the bed, tangled together, kissing now more than wrestling.  Stiles can’t help but enjoy the show for a moment or two before he presses his knees into the bed, leaning enough that he can get his hands on Derek’s back, sliding them up as he hooks his thumbs in the hem of Derek’s shirt and pulls it up his back.  Derek takes the hint and reaches behind his head to pull the shirt up and off, tossing it aside.  He rolls off Isaac, sitting up, and shifting back to press himself back against Stiles, letting out a throaty moan as Stiles runs his hands teasingly over Derek’s bared skin.  He reaches around to tweak his thumbs over Derek’s nipples simultaneously; Stiles watches Derek’s hips jerk forward, making Isaac’s breath hitch as Derek’s hips move against him.

            “There are far too many articles of clothing involved in this distraction,” Stiles points out, pressing his toothy grin against the side of Derek’s neck.  Derek’s throat vibrates with the rumbling noise that is probably supposed to be a reply to what Stiles said, but didn’t quite verbalize.

            “Very true,” Isaac agrees, sitting up and stripping away his own shirt. 

           

*************************************************************************

  
           God, Isaac could look at Stiles all day, and judging by the way Derek has twisted himself around for a better view, he loves the sight too.  Stiles possesses a surreal type of beauty that never fails to catch Isaac’s attention; it’s not the gruff, masculinity of Derek’s appearance or the “angel face” Isaac’s been told he has.  Stiles’ allure is something in a league of it’s own, as rare and unique as his soul, and somehow Stiles still has no idea the utterly intoxicating spell he can cast just by stripping off an article or two of clothing. His pale skin, dotted with moles, is turned a little bit golden by the late afternoon light coming through the window, and Isaac aches to trace and tease the gorgeous expanse with his tongue.

            So he does. 

He moves up onto his knees and towards Stiles, pulling him close, and enjoying the total lack of tension throughout Stiles.  It’s a languid state that’s becoming harder and harder to achieve these days.  Isaac licks at Stiles’ lips first, gently pushing into a kiss that has Stiles falling down onto the bed beside them, right where he belongs.   As Isaac kisses Stiles, he feel’s Derek’s hands sliding over his hips and ass.  He can feel Derek shifting on the bed behind him as well, taking over Stiles’ lips when Isaac moves on to tease at every exposed mole along Stiles’ skin, connecting the marks with his tongue and feeling Stiles tremble beneath him.   He hesitates just a moment, pausing to check the trembling is from pleasure.

            “Well, don’t stop _now_ ,” Stiles complains breathlessly breaking away from Derek’s lips for just a moment.

            Isaac chuckles, muttering, “incorrigible,” before he continues.

He soaks in the sounds of Derek and Stiles above his head, making sure his body rubs back against Derek’s in all the right places even as his mouth attends to Stiles.  Judging by the little moans Derek lets out into Stiles’ mouth, Isaac’s right on target.

 

******************************************************************

           

_Fuck, Isaac._

 Derek’s maddeningly aroused at the feel of Isaac’s ass rubbing against his dick, it doesn’t help that Stile is all but fucking Derek’s mouth with his tongue.  Derek doesn’t want to pause even for the time it takes to shed the rest of their clothes, but he _damn_ surehe wants to kick this up a notch; Derek’s so hard that he would swear he aches down to his bones.

 _There’s a dick joke in that thought somewhere,_ Derek realizes, huffing a bit of a laugh into Stiles’ mouth. 

            “Okay, hold on, this is getting uncomfortable,” Stiles mumbles against Derek’s lips, and Derek goes rigid instantly.

_Fuck. Shit. Goddammit! It was going so well!_

            “I’m so hard it fucking hurts, and you, Mr. Tighty McTightpants, are probably bordering on permanent damage,” Stiles goes on, leaning back to look at Derek’s bulging jeans with a quirked eyebrow.  

            “Huh?”

            “Tighty McTightpants?” Isaac repeats dubiously.   “That’s the best you’ve got?”

            “My brain is melting into my dick; give me a break,” Stiles retorts.  “Derek? Jeans off? Yes? Now? Please?”

            “So you’re good?”

Stiles plants a soft kiss to the crease of worry in Derek’s brow and assures, “I’m fine; I just want a little more nudity involved in this equation.”

            “Pants off, then,” Derek agrees, though he’s momentarily distracted by the sight of Isaac’s fingers tucking into the waist band of Stiles’ pajama pants and his boxers to pull them down his hips; Stiles lets out a breath of relief when Isaac brushes his fingers down the shaft of his dick, and Derek can’t wait another second to free himself from his own jeans.

            The three of them move, working to discard the rest of their clothing before tangling up together, letting hands and lips roam over one another; Derek can’t resist the urge to slide his lips down the length of Stiles’ torso and tease at Stiles’ hip bones.   He wraps his fingers around the base of Stiles’ dick as he licks at him first, and Stiles lets out a wanton moan that is muffled by what Derek can only assume is Isaac’s mouth.  It makes Derek want to smile, but his mouth is currently busy, so he focuses instead of taking Stiles in all the way, relaxing his jaw until he feels his lips touch his fingers at the base of Stiles’ cock.   He can’t hold in a groan when Stiles’ hips move just a bit, and he feels fingers thread through his hair.

            “Fuck, Derek,” Stiles gasps, his fingers tight in Derek’s hair.

            “Problem?”  Derek asks as he lifts his head and looks up at Stiles, lips slick with spit and Stiles’ precome; he knows what the sight probably does to him, so he licks his lips for good measure, and Stiles groans in something between frustration and arousal.

            “I wanna come with one of you inside of me,” Stiles manages to get out between pants.   “If this is going to get worse before it’s better, we might not—”

            “Shhh,” Isaac soothes with a finger to Stiles lips, dipping down for another kiss.  “Don’t worry about what’s going to happen.  Just enjoy this, right now, okay?”

He turns his head and kisses Isaac deeply before he’s moving, humming agreement.  Isaac reaches into the bedside table for the bottle of lube.

“We’ll take care of you, and then you can watch us?” Isaac wonders.

            Though Isaac may have cut off the sentiment, Stiles was right.  If things keep getting worse before they get better, he might not be well enough to do anything this involved for a while.   Tonight is for all of them, but especially for Stiles.  It took nearly a year even after Stiles put most of the trauma into Damon and Wretch for him to be able to enjoy penetration; Derek knows he’s right in assuming it could be a while before he gets a moment like this again.

            _It’s so unfair.  I’d give anything to make it better for you, Stiles.  I’d give anything to be able to fix all the damage they did.  I’m sorry you’re the only one who really can; you shouldn’t have to do it on your own._

_But you can do it, and we’ll be better than we’ve ever been._

_You just gotta keep going._

 

******************************************

 

            Isaac’s hands are trembling with anticipation when Stiles lies back to spread his legs for Isaac.   It’s a simple enough gesture, but it’s so much more from Stiles, trust and progress and so much positivity that Isaac’s terrified to lose as Stiles tries to heal.  How far will he backslide when all the issues siphoned off into Wretch and Damon come rushing back? Isaac can only hope Stiles will come out the other side of this therapy better for addressing the issues.  in the meantime, like he said earlier, he can think of a distraction or two, like taking his time unraveling Stiles in a _good_ way.

            So he moves to lie down next to Stiles, peppering soft kisses along his jaw and neck as he slicks up his fingers.  Stiles is hot and tight when Isaac presses the first finger into him, clenching at the intrusion, but the litany of breathless murmurs that Isaac can’t really understand is enough to know that Stiles is okay, still on board with what they’re doing.  If the reaction hadn’t been enough, Stiles’ fingers curling around Isaac’s cock and stroking him slowly only adds to Isaac’s certainty.

 

********************************************************

 

            “More,” Stiles moans.  “I—I’m good for more, Isaac.” Stiles all but begs, his hips moving to push himself back onto Isaac’s fingers.

            _Hurry.   Before we find whatever arbitrary moment or touch or word sends me into more of these god-awful flashbacks I thought I was done with._

Isaac slides a second finger into Stiles’ heat, keeping the tempo slow and easy to allow Stiles to adjust, even though Stiles is already moving his hips to try and get more friction.

            _Patience was never my strong suit dammit._

            “Come on, Isaac,” Stiles urges, rutting back against Isaac’s fingers.  “M’ready.”

            “Just a bit more.” Isaac answers, a small grin on his face as he presses his mouth against the ball of Stiles’ shoulder as Derek turns Stiles’ head to press a deep, but sweet, kiss to Stiles’ lips.   “God, you feel so good like this.  So good for us.”

            _“Such a good boy.  So good for us. Bent over and taking my cock like the little bitch that you are,” Stiles feels Alec pounding in to him ruthlessly, feels Rachel’s claws digging into his scalp to keep him from squirming too much._

Just before Damon screams for them to stop, he realizes the nightmare is already fading: Rachel’s claws replaced with Derek’s blunt, human fingers; the pounding from Alec blurring into blissful, tender stimulation from Isaac as he murmurs praises in Damon’s ear. The feel of Derek’s mouth on Damon’s is the living definition of perfection, such a blissful blend of possessiveness and gentleness that he relishes every moment, barely holding in a whine of protest when Derek pulls away as Isaac asks,  “Hey, you okay?

“Mmm,” Damon hums back, smiling.

He uses his freed lips to kiss a reverent line across Derek’s collarbone as Isaac continues to work him open gradually, fingers trailing over his prostate just often enough to have him positively _aching_ for the digits to be replaced with Derek.  Every inch of Damon is alight with the anticipation of _finally_ being fully and whollyclaimed by the Alpha he loves so dearly.  He can feel how ready Derek is, and he can’t help wondering why he doesn’t move to align with Damon.   Then Derek inexplicably takes himself in his own hand, fingers circling the base of his cock to hold back his release as he strokes Damon toward climax. 

_Why don’t you just claim me now, Derek?  Don’t you want to?_

Derek’s eyes focus on Damon’s face a moment and narrow in scrutiny. 

            “Are you sure you’re okay, Stiles?”

            Damon’s mouth gapes open as dread consumes the elation of what Damon had thought to be possibly the best dream he’d ever had.

            _No._

_This is real?_

_No, no, no._

_If this is real, then—then I took Stiles from this moment.  You think I’m Stiles.  You wanted Stiles—of course you want Stiles.  You never take me to bed._

“Stiles?” Isaac says gently, pulling his fingers from Damon, who can’t suppress a whimper at the loss, despite knowing the touch isn’t his to have.  “We can slow down, or we can do something el—”

            “I’m so sorry,” Damon chokes out.  “I—I thought—I would never have—”

            _I never would have assumed I was allowed this.  I never would have pretended that I could take Stiles place in the marriage. Never. Not ever.  Derek chose Stiles, not me, and that’s okay.  He’s given me so much else.  I don’t need this—don’t deserve it.  It will make Stiles upset when he sees._

_Oh, God. It will upset Stiles so it will upset Derek and Isaac too._

_You’ve been bad, beta, very bad,_ Alec hisses.  _You will be punished._

Damon knows Isaac and Derek are still speaking to him, but the words are indiscernible underneath Alec’s shouts of condemnation.   He tries to listen and focus, but it’s no use.  He opens his mouth to express how sorry he is, but he can’t apologize, can’t explain, can’t even _breathe_ past the foreboding that smothers him to silence.  Desperate for anything to do that will show Derek his remorse, Damon hurls himself off the bed and kneels in physical submission since he can’t convey any verbal repentance.

            The tension running through every muscle is downright painful.  His knees throb from the impact on the hardwood floor. 

_Small injury compared to what’s surely to come._

And yet, Damon can’t help feeling that whatever may be coming, it was worth it.  He’ll pay whatever price he has to for that perfect, blissful feeling Derek’s mouth on his as Isaac readied him to be claimed.  Damon licks his lips, willing the tingle from the pressure not to fade too quickly, even as Alec shouts on in his mind what a loathsome, unworthy recipient Damon was.

            _Maybe I didn’t deserve it, but Derek still kissed me._

_It wasn’t just a dream._

_Derek kissed me._

“Look at me!” Derek’s voice thunders over the alphas screaming in Damon’s head.  He pulls his eyes up to meet Derek’s, and can’t believe the lack of fury he finds there.   “I’m not mad; you’re not in trouble. Nobody’s going to hurt you. Understand?”

            Damon can only nod, mouth gaping open at the mercy of it. 

            _Of course he’s merciful.  He’s Derek. He’s always so good, even when I fuck everything up and disappoint or disobey or disrespect. No matter what the voices tell me he’ll do, Derek is always, always so good to me.  He always proves them wrong._

Of course, the reminder of Derek’s goodness only serves to intensify Damon’s guilt.  Derek’s always so good, but Damon still traitorously allows the voices to make him doubt the Alpha.  It’s only Derek’s request that allows him to keep his head up, waiting for him to say more. 

            “Are you—you’re Damon?” Derek guesses, and Damon nods again.

 Derek doesn’t look pleased exactly, but he doesn’t look disappointed at the confirmation. Damon will take what he can get.  

“How long were you—how much did—when did Stiles—never mind,” Derek stammers.  “Just—uh—let’s all—uh—get some clothes on and—and we’ll just—Damon, I’m sorry we didn’t notice. I don’t want you to think—I wouldn’t—you know you could have told us to stop—”

_Sorry? For maybe the best moments of my existence up to this point—well, physically at least._

“No, Derek, don’t be sorry,” Damon protests.  “ _I’m_ sorry. You’re right; I should’ve said something—I _would_ have said something; I promise. I just—I—” Damon ducks his head, embarrassed to admit, but needing to provide his excuse, “I didn’t realize it was really happening.”

“What?” Derek asks.  “What d’you mean ‘really happening’?”

“I thought—I figured I was just dreaming,” Damon mumbles to the floor.

“Oh,” Derek answers. “ _Oh_ , _”_ he drawls again as comprehension dawns.  “Oh, you—you thought—you said _dream_ though? Not _nightmare_?”

“No, Derek, of course not! I’ve always wondered—” Damon cuts of the pathetic declaration of admiration before he can embarrass himself any further.  

_I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be Stiles: what it would feel like to be touched and caressed so gently and lovingly, and claimed without it hurting me, and really belonging with you and Isaac instead of serving as a shoddy replacement for the beta you really want here._

“Not a nightmare,” Damon reassures, quelling the rest of the confession. 

“That’s—good.”

“How long have you wondered?” Isaac asks, finding his voice.  “You’ve—wanted this?”

_Why wouldn’t I? You’re wonderful beyond my understanding, both of you.  You take care of me and love me, and I’d’ve done this to please the two of you without caring about my own gratification, but to have you two reciprocate? I thought I must be dreaming because this is more than any beta deserves, much less a damaged pathetic thing like me._

Damon just nods, not trusting his voice.

“But you never said anything.”

“You chose Stiles,” Damon replies, “not me.  I understand that. I don’t want to do anything that would—”

“But you _are_ Stiles—I mean—you—” Isaac counters, searching for words.

They’ve talked about this when Damon’s given Isaac information for the thesis.  Stiles and Damon are the same and yet separate, and the general concept is enough to keep Damon confused about everything for the rest of time. 

“Stiles doesn’t think so,” he reminds, “or Derek.”

“I do—just—it’s all really complicated,” Derek counters, “but you’re—you’ve got Stiles enough that it makes sense you would want—we should’ve talked to you about— _fuck_ ,” Derek mutters finally, running a hand down his face.  “I don’t know what to say other than I’m sorry we let you down again.”

“No, Derek no! You didn’t you’re good, _so_ good.  I’m not let down.  I’m happy, _very_ happy.  I promise!” Damon assures, resisting the urge to throw himself at Derek and kiss away the troubled frown, pleasuring the Alpha until he forgets every worry Damon’s ever caused, until the only thing he remembers is Damon’s name moaned over and over in ecstasy like Damon’s something worth—

“So you want to—,” Derek says, pulling Damon from the fantasy trying to run away with him. “It wasn’t bad for you, but—how do—I don’t know if—” Derek stops trying to convey his thoughts, looking helplessly at Isaac as though he can lend the Alpha the words he lacks, but Isaac seems at a loss too.

“Let’s—uh—let’s just get dressed and talk over some—uh—dinner or something,” Isaac says.  “There are tons of leftovers, Damon. You don’t need to worry about making anything. We’ll just try to, ya know, gather thoughts and stuff.”

“Yeah,” Derek agrees.  “Good with you Damon?”

“Yes, Derek.”

 

*********************************************************************************

 

            Derek fights at the bile rising in his throat as they walk toward the kitchen.

            _How long were you Damon? What flashback or trigger did Stiles have that we didn’t notice? Are you going to think I expect this now? But you said you wanted it? Well you are kind of Stiles, so maybe we should’ve seen this coming a long time ago.  What the hell do I do about it now though? You can’t understand well enough for me to not take advantage, but I can’t let you think I don’t want you because you’re not good enough or something. What the hell do I say to you? What the fuck I do? I don’t even know where to start._

Derek hopes like hell that Isaac has some idea what to do, but judging from the troubled look Isaac’s masking poorly, he’s just as lost as Derek feels.   The awkward tension in the air is practically palpable as Isaac pulls food from the fridge to reheat. 

            “I can—can get dinner ready if you want to—to go and keep on—I didn’t—I’m sorry I interrupted the—”

            “Don’t be sorry, Damon,” Isaac interrupts.  “We’re happy to see you, just surprised that’s all, and this—the circumstances are a little—complicated.”

            _Our whole lives are complicated,_ Derek thinks bitterly.  _One huge fucking roller coaster ride of complicated that I’m starting to think we’ll never be able to get off of._

“Okay,” Damon answers, brow still creased in worry.

            “Hey,” Derek says, laying a cautious hand on Damon’s shoulder.  “Seriously, don’t be sorry,” he persists with a smile.

            Damon doesn’t shrink back from the touch; in fact, he relaxes visibly at the contact, smiling at Derek in return. 

            “Thanks.”

            “So, let’s see, what should we update you on?” Isaac wonders, moving the conversation past the immediate issues for at least a little while.  “Collin’s signed up for rec league baseball.  He started practice last week, so new games next week.  He’s playing catcher.  Addie goes to day care three times a week now, but Pop goes with her.   Still, better than nothing, right?” Isaac supposes with a smile.  “And—uh—I’m going to go for my Master’s for sure; I’m getting the applications all in this month.  Derek’s being his usual stay-at-home, handyman, Alpha self.”

            “And Stiles?” Damon wonders.

            “Stiles is—uh—he’s actually working on—uh—things.”

            Worry flickers across Damon’s face for just a fraction of a second before he smiles, wide and genuine.

            “He’s getting better?”

            “Trying to,” Isaac confirms.  “He’s talking to Morrell—and me a little.  It’s gonna take a while to deal with it all I think.  It’s—”

            “Complicated?” Damon finishes for him with a small smile.

            “Yeah.”

            Damon just nods, taking in the information.  Derek can’t even imagine trying to wrap his head around this from Damon’s perspective.

            _He’s essentially trying to make sure you never come back._

_But you’ll be here always because you’ll be back in with the others and—fuck this is so weird and confusing on so many levels._

_And regardless of the whole potential you won’t exist anymore, you’re really happy for him, aren’t you? Just a second of worry at the news, and then a smile.  Because you want Stiles to get better.  After all, you don’t think you deserve any of this anyhow._

_But you do._

_And in some ways you deserve it more than the other Stiles because you’re bearing the brunt of the scars right now.  You deserve every happiness we can give you, and the best way to get you there is to get you merged back in with the rest of Stiles so the good can outweigh the bad all the time._

“Derek?” Damon says quietly, pulling him from his thoughts; he realizes he’s been staring at Damon this whole time.  “Can I—do you want me to do something?”

            “No, sorry, just thinking,” Derek answers.  “Thanks, though.”

            “Of course.”

            They’re quiet a while, making plates of leftover ravioli and salad and moving to sit a the bar and eat.  Derek can’t help notice the tension building in Damon again.  More than once Damon shuts his eyes and grits his teeth for a moment or two. 

            “Damon—”

            “I didn’t mean it, Derek; I—”

            “Whatever they’re telling you isn’t true,” Derek continues despite the outburst. 

            Damon starts to reply, but chokes out a sob instead before clamping his hand over his mouth.  He dissolves completely into tears in just seconds, pushing Isaac away when he tries to comfort him.  He sinks down against the cabinet, pulling his knees up to his chest as he covers his ears and continues to wail.

            “What’re they saying?” Isaac asks frantically.  “What, Damon? What? It’s okay, no matter what they say.  You’re okay.”

            “I’m not okay. I’m bad; I’m so bad. I shouldn’t—I know better—I can’t stop it. They’re just—they’re there and I don’t—I don’t mean it.  I’m not Stiles. I’m not Stiles. I don’t get to be Stiles.”

            _What the fuck are you on about? What’re they telling you?_

“Tell us how to help.”

            “Remind me where I belong. Remind me I’m not Stiles. I’m different. I’m just—just a beta. I don’t—my place is serving my pack in whatever—”

            “No,” Derek cuts in harshly, the tone sending Damon’s head cracking back against the cabinet as he snaps his face up to meet Derek’s.  “Your place is with us, but not serving us.  You belong.  You deserve all of it. We love you.”

            “But, Derek, I—I—”

            “We love you,” Derek insists.  “Same as Stiles; you’re every bit as good as Stiles. We love you.”

            _Because clearly we haven’t made that clear enough or said it enough or shown it enough. But I didn’t think I could show you in the same ways.  This dynamic is so different I didn’t want you to think I expected anything or would hurt you or take advantage.  I should have found a way to make sure it was clear though; how could we just let you think you were second best so long? How could we not see that the inferiority issues reached into this part of the relationship too?_

Before he fully considers what he’s doing, Derek leans to plant a quick kiss on Damon’s temple.  It was a royally stupid decision; there’s so many ways for it to be misinterpreted that Derek is already bracing for the new wave of tears or confusion, but Damon’s eyes open wide at the gesture, mouth gaping open a moment or two before he gives Derek a shaky smile.

            “Whatever they’re telling you; whatever you’re thinking; whatever else happens; we love you, and we _always_ will, Damon.  Believe me?”

            Damon nods, bringing his fingers up to reverently touch the spot Derek kissed.  Derek’s eyes dart over to Isaac, who’s clearly still trying to catch up with Derek’s train of thought. 

            “It’s—we’re different with you than with Stiles, but that doesn’t mean we love you any less.  It’s just different. That’s all.”

            “Yeah,” Isaac agrees. “We can talk about it if you want, figure it out.  I’m sorry we haven’t sooner we just—we thought you knew.”

             “But you—you married Stiles, not me; I’m an accident, a symptom; I shouldn’t—”

            “Hey,” Derek interjects.  “I would never, _ever_ let anybody else talk about you like that, so don’t you dare do it to yourself.  You’re a part of Stiles and he’s a part of you—even if it doesn’t feel that way.  You’re both gonna get better, and we love you both.”

Derek takes Damon’s hand, hoping it’s the right move, and Damon clings to it like a lifeline, nearly cutting off the circulation.

            “Thank you,” he says finally.

            “Of course,” Isaac says, taking the other hand.  “Anything for you Damon; you should know that by now.”

            “I just—I don’t want to be a—”

            “You’re not a burden,” Isaac interrupts before Damon can finish the sentence. 

            “Right. I know.  I don’t mean to doubt.  I just—with their voice so loud it’s hard to remember but I know I’m—I’m l—loved and useful and kept.”

            “Exactly right.”

            “What’re they telling you?” Isaac asks.  “Can you talk about it?”

            “It’s not—I just—there’s things in my head I know I shouldn’t—I have so much. I don’t need—I should just—I don’t understand,” he answers.  “I’m good; I know how to be good, but I—”

            “So you—you feel like your thoughts are—wrong or something?”

            “I don’t mean to think it or want it; I won’t act on it.  I’ll be good, Derek, I promise!”

            “Hey, it’s okay,” Derek soothes.  “You’re the best beta in the pack, Damon; you know that.”

            He smiles weakly before replying, “Thanks, Sourwolf.”

            Derek’s mouth gapes open at the familiar endearment.  Damon panics, any and all progress toward calming him gone.  

            “I didn’t mean it; I didn’t! The name just popped out.  I—just—I—what’s _wrong_ with me?”

            “It’s okay,” Derek assures.  “I don’t mind.”

            _But I think your Stiles is starting to show._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so HUGE HUGE thanks to Nicole for the sexytimes bit! it wouldn't have had nearly as much on screen time without her help, so go shower her with adoration (dylangasmsforusall.tumblr.com)
> 
> another huge thanks to SlitheringAngel for his beta reading and general moral support
> 
> and now......drumrolll please......I GOT ACCEPTED TO LAW SCHOOL!!!! *unabashed happy dancing*
> 
> sidenote: yes, I know I've said to some of you that Stiles hadn't bottomed yet and that I'd make a semi-big deal of it when he does. I should clarify that I don't count Stiles being able to bottom because he siphoned off trauma to multiple personalities, we'll make a big deal when he can bottom as fully and wholly himself--if he gets to that point :) I'm not making promises just yet muahaha


	11. Chapter 10

            Damon wakes slowly, savoring the feeling of being nestled between Isaac and Derek in the bed even though they _know_ he’s not Stiles.  He’d been more than a little worried it was all some marvelous dream.  He’d also fretted that it would be Stiles who woke here.  It seems though that the universe has deemed him worthy to spend at least a little while longer in this blissful state. 

            Words from the lengthy conversations of yesterday play through Damon’s mind… _it’s different, but we love you…you’re loved and wanted and you definitely deserve to feel that…it’s complicated, but we can work on it…slow, okay? Just the basics for now; kisses and hand holding and that kind of thing…we’ll figure all this out…we’re glad you shared; we’re glad we know…_

_They’re glad._

_Glad to hear me admit desires I never dreamed could be realized.  Glad to give me the contact and affection I’ve craved. Glad to agree to help figure it all out so that Stiles won’t be hurt and I won’t be pushed too far and we can all just be happy._

_I can’t believe this is happening._

_Maybe it’s not,_ Thomas suggests.  _Maybe you’re unconscious from the last round of torture, and you’ll wake up bloodied and beaten and—_

Damon whines at the thought of such a horrific possibility, and Derek stirs at the sound.

            “Wazzit?” he wonders sleepily, eyes blinking against the light as he studies Damon’s face for an answer.

            He bites his lips a moment before sharing his worry.

            “It’s not—not just a dream is it? Thomas says I’m going to wake up back with them.”

            “It’s not a dream,” Derek promises, hand finding Damon’s under the covers and holding it tight.  “It’s real, and you’re safe.  They’ll never hurt you again.”

            Damon nods, closing his eyes again and willing the voices to stop.

            “Wanna get up?” Derek offers.  “We can make breakfast? Give you a little distraction.  Stiles left a breakfast casserole recipe he thought you might like to try.”

            “Mmmmm, breakfast,” Isaac mumbles from Damon’s other side.  “I’ll help. Come on.”

              They tumble out of bed and head toward the kitchen.  Derek goes to make coffee as Isaac locates the recipe Stiles stuck in a book for Damon.  It’s not so different from ones he’s tried before, but there’s a little more pizazz to this one—bell peppers and onions, two different cheeses, and three different meats.  Damon’s mouth is already watering at the thought.  Isaac helps him gather up the ingredients as Derek pours them all coffee.  It’s a scene they’ve played out dozens and dozens of times.

            And yet, everything is different this morning.  It’s not just Damon preparing breakfast with his Alpha and Second; it’s Damon as part of this—not the marriage, he doesn’t think he’ll ever agree he belongs there; he wouldn’t want either of them to vow to be weighed down with him for all their lives—but part of a triad of some fashion.  Not Damon as third wheel to Isaac and Derek, but Damon stepping up to almost share a place, something beyond his place as a beta.  He can’t help the fountain of giddiness the acknowledged change in circumstance brings.

            “Here you go, Damon,” Derek says, sitting his mug of coffee on the counter by the stove for Damon to retrieve with his free hand. 

            “Thanks.”

            He picks it up without second thought, sipping lightly since it’s hot, and it’s all he can do not to spit the bitter concoction back out the instant it hits his tongue.

            “Too hot?” Derek guesses.

            “No—just—”

            _It tastes horrible._

“Is it new coffee?”

            “Same stuff we always brew,” Derek answers. 

            “Oh,” Damon says, forcing down another sip in hopes that it will taste better the second time; it doesn’t.

            Derek smiles, clearly amused though Damon’s not quite sure why. 

“There’s cream and sugar,” he reminds.  “Want to try some in it? Or maybe some honey?”

            Damon’s never cared for anything other than the plain black brew, but anything has to be better than this taste.

            “Maybe honey,” he agrees.  “Thank you, Derek.”

            “No problem.”

            Two tablespoons of honey later, the coffee is infinitely more enjoyable. 

            “Interesting,” Isaac comments.  “So you don’t like it black anymore, huh?”

            “Guess not,” Damon answers with a shrug.  “Is that—I mean I can drink it without if—”

            “No, it’s fine. Just—interesting.”

            “Interesting how?” Damon can’t help but wonder.

            “Well, Stiles really likes sugar and cream in his coffee.”

            “ _Tons_ of cream,” Derek expounds.

            “And he was—when he started trying to get better, some of the—uh—symptoms of the trauma started coming back a little bit.   I think—I think maybe some of his traits are showing in you.  With the Sourwolf thing, and feeling the thoughts you think are wrong, and now the honey.”

            “I’m acting like Stiles?”

            “Just—hints of Stiles.”

            “Is that a good thing?”

            “I hope so,” Isaac replies, “but it’s all just kind of a guess.  You know as well as us that we don’t really understand it all.”

            “But Stiles is trying to, and if he’s acting scared like me and I’m saying things like him then—then that means he’s maybe getting back to being just one person again?”

            “Maybe.”

            “Good,” Damon says with a smile, though it puts an all too familiar ache in his chest.

            _But what happens to me when all that goodness overshadows the weakness? There won’t be anything of me left._

_But Stiles will be home where he belongs._

_And Derek and Isaac will be ecstatic._

_It’s all for the best to let him stay all the time._

_But I’m here now, and there’s nothing wrong with enjoying it while it lasts, right? It’s not selfish._

*************************************************************

 

            _He wants honey in his coffee._

_What else is his mind tweaking with Damon? What other alterations will peek through? How’s he going to handle them?_

It takes all Isaac’s self control not to bombard Damon with questions.  He’s itching to get to his notes; Damon’s so much more forthcoming than Stiles, and he’s definitely more interested in understanding the personalities.  Still, after the night they had, Damon doesn’t deserve an interrogation right now, especially if it means damaging the easy smile that graces his face every few minutes, like he’s constantly on the verge of exuberant laughter.  Isaac’s rarely seen him maintain this level of elation, and he’s not eager to see it fade.

            “So the kids are at Pop’s?” Damon wonders.  “When will they be back?”

            “Soon,” Derek replies.  “We—uh—Stiles was having some flashbacks, and we thought it might be best to spare them the chaos.”

            “Stiles had flashbacks?” Damon frowns.   “I thought that was the point of me.”

            _It is,_ Isaac can’t help thinking, but Damon of course doesn’t need to hear that.  He’s got a low enough opinion of himself as it is.

            “Neither of you deserve them,” Isaac says instead.  “That’s what we’re hoping to accomplish with all the attempts to sort through stuff—no more flashbacks, or at least a lot less.”

            “Right, got it,” Damon replies.  “Did he—what did he see? Did he say?” Damon wonders before quickly adding, “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.  I’m sorry he—”

            “We were close to rescuing him, within sight actually,” Derek says, and Isaac _hates_ the agony in the admission, “but we didn’t look in the right place.  He was trying to call for us but—”

            “Oh,” Damon responds quietly in the silence after Derek’s cut off sentence. 

            He’s concentrating hard on something.  Searching for the memory in his own flashback? It occurs to Isaac that, while he may share the events of his nightmares and flashbacks sometimes, Damon’s never had anyone who understood exactly what it was like.  Was he hoping to recognize the scene? Wishing for someone to understand?

            _How nuts is it that you could find solace in sharing trauma within your own mind, splitting into two but united in shared experience.  Except you don’t share it.  God, there are so many layers of this, so many coping mechanisms build into the nature of the disorder.  How are we ever going to untangle the web? Can we?_

“Hey, Damon, can I ask you something?”

            “Of course.”

            “It’s fine if you want to decline the suggestion, okay? I won’t be angry.”

            “Okay.”

            “Would you consider talking to our friend Holly Morrell? You know about her, right?”

            “She’s helping you with some of your research.  She helps with Addie and Collin sometimes.”

            “Right, and she’s helping with Stiles now too.”

            “You want me to talk to her?” Damon wonders, eyes darting to Derek as though trying to predict the answer he’d like Damon to give and then landing back on Isaac to search him the same way.

            “If you’re okay with that.  She’s mentioned that she’d like to meet you next time you were here, but I don’t— _we_ don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

            “It’ll help Stiles, right? It’ll give you more notes and things, too.”

            “The more we know the more we have to base our actions on,” Isaac says.  “I like to think it will help a lot for her—me and Derek too—to talk some things out with you.”

            “What kind of things?”

            “This and that.  If there’s ever a question you don’t want to answer, we won’t make you.  It’s all your choice.”

            “Okay.”

            “Okay?”

            “You’ll be there, won’t you? Someone?”

            “Yeah, if you want us there, we’re there; right beside you every step if you want.”

            “And you’re sure Stiles won’t be mad?”

            “Positive.”

            _Well, positive he won’t mind you talking; he’ll like the fact that Derek and I are there less, but we’re not sending you into this alone.  If it gets to topics Stiles avoids, we’ll maybe steer clear? I dunno.  We’ll see what Morrell thinks about all of it.  I think it’ll be a good step forward.  I just hope I’m not totally wrong._

 

*********************************** 

           

“Feeling okay?” Derek wonders, taking a seat on the couch beside Damon as Dad finishes the circle of mountain ash around them. 

            The counselor will arrive soon.  Damon balls his hands into fists, resisting the urge to lace his fingers in Derek’s to calm his nerves.  As though he read the thought, Derek reaches to encircle Damon’s clenched fist; Damon offers his palm immediately, grounding himself in the firm hold Derek keeps.

            _I still can’t believe this is happening._

            “You shouldn’t trap yourself for me,” Damon answers.  “What if—”

            “Your Dad’s here,” Derek reminds, “so is Isaac.  Morrell is a friend of the pack.  We’re not in danger.”

            Damon nods, not wanting to voice further protests since Derek’s mind is so clearly made up.  He’s still not entirely sure what to expect; he just knows the protective circle has him feeling antsy already.  He closes his eyes, honing in on the soothing sensation of Derek’s thumb running back and forth on the back of Damon’s hand. 

            “It’s okay, Damon,” Derek promises.  “It’ll just be a few questions, just a conversation to help her—to help all of us—understand the situation a little better. That’s all. Nothing to worry about.”

            “What if—what if I say the wrong thing to her?”

            “Just be honest,” Derek replies with a kind smile.   “There’s no wrong answer as long as you’re honest, and you can decide not to answer certain things if you want.  If it’s too stressful for you we can stop anytime, okay? I won’t be angry.”

            “Thank you, Derek.”

            “We just want to help.”

            _Help me or help Stiles?_ Damon wonders.

            _No, no, no. They’ve been so good to me.  I get to hold hands and sleep between them.  I’m more than just a beta to them now.  They’re good. I don’t get to criticize.  They’re good.  I’m good.  I shouldn’t question them._

            _Traitorous little bastard,_ Alec thunders.  _How dare you presume to understand your Alpha’s—_

“Here she comes,” Isaac announces from the window, pulling Damon from the voices just in time. 

            _Oh, God; Oh, God, please don’t let me fuck anything up._

***************************************************

           

            The first portion of the session is simple enough: establishing that Damon’s first memory is of Thanksgiving at the Whittemores, understanding that he hears three alphas in his mind but only knows their faces from flashbacks, hearing that he has earlier memories of the pack that Derek shared with him so that he could understand better as he adjusted to the pack.  Damon does well, speaking timidly with frequent looks to Derek, who manages to smile every time, determined to remain calm and supportive.

            “Well, now that we’ve got some of the preliminaries out of the way,” Morrell says.  “Why don’t you tell me about yourself Damon?”

            Damon glances uncertainly at Derek and then back to Morrell.

            “Um—I—I’m a derivative of Stiles that—”

            “Not you in relation to Stiles,” Morrell corrects.  “Tell me about you individually.”

            “But I’m part of Stiles, right?”

            “But you have a life apart from his.”

            The genuine confusion on Damon’s face is no less than Derek expected, but it’s still heart-wrenching to see. 

            _You function without mention of him so often; you speak as though he’s separate from you.  We always assumed you understood that you were your own person—but then again you’re not your own person. So really you’re the one making more sense but—but it’s still just so fucking sad to think that you’ve lived with us for years feeling like you’re just shadow of a person and who doesn’t deserve anything.  I thought it was their training that made you this way, not your self-perception._

            “Yes,” Damon agrees finally.  “I can do things apart from Stiles.  But I don’t—know what to say really.  What do you need to know about me?”

            “Maybe you could just tell me the most important thing to know about you,” Morrell requests.  “If you had to describe yourself in one sentence, without referring to Stiles, what would you say?”

            “I—I—” Damon stammers, looking to Derek. 

            “Anything you say is okay,” Derek assures for what seems the millionth time.  “Just be honest.”

            “I—I guess I would say—the most important is—is—is that I’m a good beta,” Damon manages finally.

            “Oh, really?” Morrell responds. “So tell me—”

            “Yes, really!” he insists with a panicked look to Derek; his pulse is through the roof, eyes going wide in a terror Derek doesn’t quite understand.  “Yes, I am! I am really a good beta! I—”

            “I don’t doubt your words, Damon, I promise you.  I know you’re a good beta. Derek’s told me so,” she reassures.

            “Oh,” Damon replies, relaxing visibly.

            “I just wonder if you’d tell me what that’s like—what it means to be a good beta for this pack.”

            “I help with all kinds of things,” Damon informs.  “Whatever the pack needs.  I used to need a list, but now I just—I can ask questions and I get to pick on my own chores a little bit.  I understand how I can help without needing to be told,” he finishes with a small but proud smile.

            “You enjoy that? Having options? Figuring things out on your own?”

            “Yes.”

            “Can you give me some more specific examples of things that you do?”

            “I can cook.  I help with Addie and Collin—packing lunches, and playing games, and helping with homework. I help Derek with things around the house: laundry and dishes and yard work and things.”

            “What’s your favorite thing to do?”

            “I like all my tasks.”

            “That’s good; I’m glad to hear that, but if you _had_ to pick a favorite?” she persists.

            “Anything with Addie.”

            She smiles kindly.  “You enjoy time with Addie?”

            “Yes.”

            “Why?”

            “I’ve never really thought about it.  I just—do.”

            “Because she’s a lower beta?”

            “Maybe.”

            “Logan is also a lower beta.  Do you feel the same way about spending time with him?”

            “Not exactly.” He looks worriedly to Derek and assures, “but I do like Logan just—just Addie is—my favorite, I think.  Of the betas, Derek, not you. You’re first of course—and Isaac is Second so he’s—you’re both—I’m not saying I like her better than—”

            “Hey, hey, it’s okay; look at me. I’m not upset to hear you say that.  I’m happy you like spending time with Addie,” Derek soothes, glad to see the panic abating with his words.  “She’s a pretty awesome kid.”

            “Yes,” Damon agrees with a smile.  “She draws me pictures,” Damon informs Morrell.  “She’s getting very good for her age.”

            “She draws you pictures?”

            “Yes.”

            “So she enjoys time with you as well?”

            “I—I think so.”

            “Yes,” Isaac answers for him.  “She’s a big fan of Damon’s.  She says he’s the best at dress-up and tea party.”

            Damon grins shyly at the statement, ducking his head. 

            “So she thinks you’re better at it than even Stiles?” Morrell asks.

            “I—I don’t—I’m not—I’m not trying to be Stiles.  I know I can’t replace him. I don’t want to.  I just—just like to make her happy so I play the imagination games and—”

            “Why not?” Morrell asks, derailing the rambling.

            “What?”

            “Why aren’t you trying to be Stiles? Why don’t you want to replace him?” she clarifies.       

            “Because—he’s—he’s Stiles.  Of course I can’t replace him. He was here first.  Derek and Isaac chose Stiles, not me.  I’m just—just a symptom, not a—a real person. Right? Stiles is the one who should be here.”

            “But Stiles doesn’t have your training, he’s not trying to be a good beta the way you are.”

            “Stiles is good!” Damon argues.  “Stiles is _very_ good.  I—”

            “I’m not attacking Stiles, I’m just trying to understand the light you view Stiles in, and why you think he’s better than you.”

            _Everyone is better than me, aren’t they? I’m the only one who seems to need so much attention and help; I’m the one who causes so much inconvenience and worry._

“Because he is,” Damon answers matter-of-factly.  

            “Damon, don’t say that,” Isaac implores, voice carrying the same guilt that’s constricting Derek’s chest.  “He’s not _better._ You two are just different.”

            “We want Stiles to be here all the time,” Damon reminds. “That’s what best for the pack.  He’s better; that’s why he’s the one you want me and Wretch to be more like.”

            “No, Damon, we just—”

            “No?” Morrell wonders, interrupting Isaac’s protest. 

            “Well, I mean—it’s not because—I mean—I don’t know what I mean,” Isaac admits.  “I just don’t think—I don’t want you to think there’s anything wrong with you Damon.”

            “Except that I’m not Stiles.  I know.  It’s okay. I understand.”

            “You understand?” Morrell asks. 

            “Yes, of course.”

            “I’m not sure that I do.  Could you explain it to me?”

            “Explain?”

            “Explain what you understand, what makes it okay.”

            “I’m not an unsatisfactory beta; I’m just not the preferred one.  They’re still very good to me when I’m here.  Everyone thinks I’m a good beta.  They’re not angry I’m not Stiles, and they’re patient while I try to figure out how to act more like him and get better with the pack.  They don’t hold it against me that I can’t make myself go away so he’ll come back.  I’m very lucky to have the place in the pack I do.  I know I’m a placeholder for Stiles, though.  I understand that I’m just—just an absence of Stiles.  They want me gone not because I’m bad but because they can only have Stiles when I’m gone and they prefer Stiles over me.”

            “I see.”

            He smiles and nods, seemingly glad to hear he was clear enough, and turns to Derek for further confirmation that the reply was a good one.  Derek can’t mask the heartbreak he feels at the words though, and Damon’s brow furrows in worry.

            “Right, Derek?” he asks quietly.  “You don’t want me gone because I’m bad?”

            “No, no Damon, of course that’s not why,” Isaac replies.

            “You’re a good beta,” Derek adds, glad the automatic comforting words spill from his lips though he’s still trying to sort out what the hell else to say. 

            “Thank you, Derek,” Damon answers with a strained smile, but the worry is still undeniably present.

            “Is there anything else either of you care to say in response to what Damon’s said?” Morrell prompts.

            There’s a beat or two of silence as Derek wracks his brain for the words he needs.  Isaac manages to get his thoughts together first.

            “Just that—it’s not all about us, Damon.  It’s about you, too.  We want—we want you to be able to be the same as Stiles so that you don’t have so much of the damage to carry.  You could—could be happier.”

            “But I am happy, Isaac,” Damon says simply.  “I thought—you knew that? I should have been more—”

            “Sure we know you’re pretty happy, Damon—just—if you and Stiles were one person again you could be even happier.   Does that make sense? It’s—it’s best for you.”

            “Oh.”

            “It’s not about one of you or the other winning.  It’s about having a balance between you.  We want you gone because we want the separated Stiles gone too—and Wretch.  We want you all three together so that there’s not—so it’s just—not simpler exactly but—just—better—for everybody.”

            “You seem confused, Damon,” Morrell comments.

            He nods, looking to Isaac as he asks, “How is it better for Stiles to have the voices and the flashbacks again?”

            “It’s—it just is,” Derek answers, words woefully short of what he really wants to convey.

            “Does—does Stiles think so?” Damon wonders, but the next instant he’s backtracking.  “I mean—if you—if you say it’s better it must be, Derek. I’m sorry. I’m being an idiot. I—”

            “It’s okay.  You’re supposed to ask questions, Damon. We’re all here to talk about all of it.  You can say whatever you want or ask whatever you want.”

            “Thank you, Derek.”

            “Just—uh—there’s a lot that we can’t—can’t really explain I don’t guess.”

            “Let me try,” Morrell offers and Derek nods, happy to hand off the task.  “Imagine for a moment that Stiles injury is more physical—imagine he wounded his hand horribly and he didn’t have werewolf healing and it got infected.”

            “Okay.”

            “With you and Wretch it’s almost as if, rather than treat the infection and endure the pain of healing, Stiles just severed the limb.  He can function without the parts he’s cut off that you and Wretch carry, but he’s not whole.”

            Damon nods understanding, and Morrell goes on.

            “ _But_ if he hadn’t, if he had been able to treat the problems and wait for them to heal, he could have been whole eventually, once the healing was done.  Luckily, since it _isn’t_ a physical injury, Stiles can break down the walls he built up in his mind.  He can work toward being whole again.  Yes, it will be a struggle and unpleasant things like voices and flashbacks, but if Stiles can face those problems, maybe he can be whole again.  Does that make a little more sense? Braving the negative parts of the process in hopes that he can be whole again—that you can be a part of that wholeness?”

            “A little more sense, yes,” Damon concedes. 

            “So when they want you to go away, it’s not because they prefer Stiles over you; it’s because they know, and Stiles knows too, that he can’t get better without you incorporated back into the whole.  Once all three personalities are one, you can all heal, but until you’re reconciled, no lasting progress can really be made.  Right now you’ve learned to live with the disorder, but we’re hoping that with some hard work now, you can be totally free of it later.   You see?”

            “I think so.”

            Damon still looks a bit befuddled.  Derek can sure as hell understand why.  Morrell’s analogy is good, clearer than many Isaac and Derek have attempted.  It’s just that no matter how they may phrase it, the fact that it’s Stiles they’re trying to make whole will still leave Damon feeling like he’s pushed to the side of the issue. 

            “The main thing you should know,” Derek says, even though he doesn’t know shit about the psychology really and maybe he’s wrong, “is that we want to help the reconciliation because we want to help you.  It’s not just for Stiles; it’s for you too, you understand? We want what’s best for you as much as for him.”

            “Thank you.”

            “Of course.”

            There’s a pregnant pause between them until Morrell says. 

            “Now, Damon, if you’re ready to stop for today, that’s all right.  I’m glad I’ve gotten a better understanding of you and the situation as a whole, but I’d love to go a little deeper if you think you’ll be okay with it.”

            “Deeper?”

            “I have some questions I’d like to ask, things that Stiles can’t talk about—things he may not even really know or understand because he’s siphoned them off into you and Wretch.”

            “But—but if Stiles won’t answer those questions he’ll be upset if I do, won’t he?”

            “Maybe,” she concedes, “but maybe not.”

            “Derek?”

            Derek hesitates, looking to Isaac and then to Morrell as he tries to choose the best answer.  Stiles does hold a lot in, and Derek certainly understands not wanting to share the past with other people.  Still, the whole point of Damon talking to Morrell is to help, isn’t it? Stiles agreed that Isaac could ask Damon anything he wanted to.  He’s never given any indication that they should keep Damon from sharing.  Maybe this is a needed step toward getting better.

            “It’s up to you,” Derek says finally.  “If you don’t mind speaking about it, go ahead.  Maybe it will help.  If Stiles decides when he comes back that he doesn’t like the arrangement, we’ll make adjustments then.”

            _At least you won’t know what his reaction was if it does piss him off.  It’s on me and Isaac, not you.  I really think this might help, and I think you’re better equipped mentally to share than Stiles is.  You still have the ability to detach from the horrors without losing all coherency the way Wretch does.  You might just be our best shot at understanding some things._

_God I hope so._

“I can decide not to answer,” Damon says finally, “right?”

            “Right.”

            “Okay.”

            “Okay? You don’t mind talking a little longer.”

            “No, I don’t mind.”

            “Great, Damon.  Thank you.”

 

**********************************************************

 

            “So, Isaac tells me that Stiles had his first flashback in years yesterday,” Morrell says.  “You’ve been dealing with them for a while now, though, haven’t you?”

            “Yes.”

            “How long?”

            “Since the first time I came.”

            “What?” Isaac blurts, clearly surprised.

            “I—I think that’s right.”

            “I guess I don’t remember you having trouble in the first couple times,” Isaac says.  “Sorry.”

            “They weren’t too bad at first.  They’re not always so bad.”

            “No?” Morrell wonders.  “Help me understand the difference between bad and not-so-bad ones.

            “Well, sometimes I can’t get through it by myself,” Damon expounds.  “Sometimes I shout or fight or something and Derek and Isaac or someone else has to help me. Those are the bad ones.”

            _The ones that make me the biggest burden.  The damage I can’t contain no matter how hard I try.  The moments that make Derek and Isaac worry and make Collin afraid and Addie cry._

“And the not-so-bad?”

            “They’re—” he searches for the right word.  “Manageable.  Some of them are scenes that just aren’t so bad.  Some of them are just too quick for me to get so worked up.   Some of them are just memories, not really nightmare moments.”

            “So they aren’t all bad? Your flashbacks?”

            He hesitates with a glance to Derek for just a moment before answering.  “No.”

            “Can you tell me about some of those that are just memories? Moments that aren’t nightmares?”

            _I’ve seen the looks on their faces when they talk about the Alphas.  It should all be nightmares. There shouldn’t be any of it that I like or that’s okay.  It’s all bad. It was all bad. I should have said they were all bad._

            “I’m Hale Pack now.  Hale Pack is better. I don’t like any of the memories,” he asserts.  “They’re bad.  The ones Derek gives are the good ones.”

            “I’m sure Derek appreciates that sentiment, but I’m not asking you to compare your packs.  Acknowledging memories that aren’t nightmares doesn’t mean that you’d want to give up this pack for that one.  It’s just sharing experience, not anything more.”

            “It’s okay,” Derek encourages, squeezing Damon’s hand a smiling.  “I know you love this pack, Damon.  That doesn’t mean you can’t talk about the old one.  Just be honest.”

            Damon nods.  “Yes, Derek. I can—I’ll be honest.  I can—there were some—some that—that are memories of when I was doing something—nothing as good or as pleasant as the tasks Derek lets me do—but—but I was good at things.  I learned what I should do there I think; I must have because—sometimes—sometimes I remember them being happy with me—us—Stiles or—or Wretch or—whoever we were then.  Those aren’t bad.  They’re not—not anything nearly as good as here, Derek,” he assures.  “This pack is _always_ good and you’re all so patient and—”

            “I’m glad you think so Damon,” Derek says, still holding tight to Damon’s hand, so Damon’s words must still be okay. 

            “Can you share some examples?” Morrell wonders.

            “I was very good at cooking,” he reveals.  “I saw once the time that Thomas said I was the best beta he’d ever let in the kitchen. He liked poached eggs, so when I made them for breakfast here once it—it triggered that memory, and it—he was smiling at me and happy.  It wasn’t bad.”

            “High praise from an Alpha like Thomas.”

            “Yes.”

            “You must be proud.”

            “Derek’s opinion matters now.”

            “Even so, some feelings of accomplishment probably accompanied the memory.”

            “Yes.”

            “Any other examples?”

            “I learned what Alec—” he hesitates, eyes darting to Derek.  “What Alec liked for me to do to please him.  He—he would smile when he picked me over the others, and—and called me good when he liked how I performed for him. I’ve seen lots of times he was satisfied with me, so I must have done well.  Once I even got a moment when he claimed I was his favorite,” Damon rambles on. “I remembered that one when Isaac said—” he stops short at the look on Isaac and Derek’s faces, terror constricting his chest at the indisputable unhappiness his words have caused.  “But—but I’m Hale Pack now.  Alec doesn’t matter either,” he finishes, trying desperately to say the right thing to stop their displeasure at his statements.  “And Derek doesn’t like for me to offer that kind of service so I—I don’t need the flashbacks.  I don’t want them. This is better. Derek’s pack is better.  I don’t care what memories I get of the other packs, Derek; I don’t. I really don’t. It doesn’t matter if I liked learning how to please Alec because I’m learning to be _your_ beta now.  I just—”

            “It’s okay, Damon,” Derek soothes, voice breaking just a little and revealing that it clearly _isn’t_ okay no matter what Derek says.  “I just—wasn’t expecting to hear—it’s—don’t worry. You haven’t said anything wrong.”

            “I can—can share other memories, Derek.  Ones to tell how much better things are here.   There are many more bad ones than good with the alphas.  When I _didn’t_ please Alec he—”

            “Don’t,” Derek orders, “that’s not what I want to hear. I’m not worried about your loyalty, Damon. I’m just—processing.”

            Damon falls silent, looking to Isaac in hopes of some indication of what he should do, but Isaac looks just as flabbergasted as Derek.  His gaze falls instead to the counselor.

            “You shouldn’t ask questions like that,” he tells her angrily. “You’re trying to—”

            “No, Damon, she’s just trying to help.”

            “Yes, Derek, of course. I didn’t mean—”

            “You’re very quick to follow Derek’s requests,” Morrell comments.  “You try very hard to read him.”

            “He’s my Alpha, a _great_ Alpha, better than any of the ones I get memories of. Isaac too.  They’re good to me. They’re better. I want to know how to help them be happy.”

            _And yet you still fail to please them after years of learning,_ Alec points out.  _Look how unhappy they are even now, so sad to hear how you liked pleasing me.  No doubt betrayed to hear you speak of good times with another pack.  How many times can you get away with failing them before they see how worthless you really are, beta? You’re not fit for the freedom and love they bestow; you were better suited to serve us._

_And you know it, don’t you?_

 

*****************************************************

Damon devolves quickly into a sobbing, babbling mess. He clutches to Derek’s hand so tightly the circulation is slowing.  Isaac looks on helplessly from the other side of the mountain ash as Derek pulls Damon in close, trying to calm him with reassurances the beta doesn’t seem to hear. 

            “I think it’s safe to say he’s had enough for today,” Morrell says, rising to her feet. 

            “You think?” Derek wonders tersely.

            _Maybe this was too much. Maybe it’s not worth it.  Maybe we shouldn’t have asked this of him._

            “Thanks for doing this,” Isaac says.  “We’ll take all the help we can get.  Maybe—uh—I can drop by tomorrow or later this week and we can discuss things now that you’ve got a better idea of the situation with Damon.”

            “Sure.”

             “I’ll walk you out.”

            They turn just as Damon’s mutterings give way to a piteous howl of pain; his whole body goes rigid in Derek’s arms for a moment before the tremors begin and quickly give way to all to familiar seizing. 

            _Oh fuck._

_Stiles?_

_Or Wretch?_

_Oh fuck._

*******************************************************

 

            He wakes with a pounding headache, squinting against the light fixture above him.  It’s only another second before he takes in the fact that he’s being held by the Alpha.

            “Thank you, Alpha. I’ll be better. I promise I’ll—”

            “It’s okay,” the Alpha answers.  “It wasn’t a punishment.   You just have seizures sometimes.”

            “What’s your name?” a woman’s voice asks.

            She’s not pack; she’s intruding, and he shifts immediately, ready to spring on the trespasser, but he’s held back by the force of the mountain ash line on the floor. 

            _Trapped.  The Alpha’s trapped too.  She’s tricked us somehow.  Then why isn’t the Second helping? Why doesn’t he attack?_

The growl of the Alpha sends him scrambling back, shifting to his human form.

            “Stop, beta. It’s okay. She’s not a threat. She’s a friend. Do not attempt to hurt her, you understand?”

            _No._

“Yes, Alpha,” he replies aloud. 

            “What’s your name?” she repeats.

            “I’m a beta,” he replies.  “Betas don’t need names.  Names are for humans,” he informs, spitting the last word out like a curse.

            “I see.  Well, my name is Morrell.  I’m a friend of your Alpha’s.  I’d like to talk to you.”

            He looks to the Alpha, sure it must be a lie, but the Alpha is nodding. 

            “Beta, you do have a name in this pack,” Alpha says.  “We call you Stiles here, okay? You call me Derek, and the Second is Isaac.”

            “Yes, Alph—Derek.”

            “Good,” he says with a smile.  “Now, I know this is all very confusing.  You have seizures sometimes; you lose your memory.   Morrell is here to help us figure out how to fix that, if we can.  She wants to ask you some questions.  I want you to answer honestly, okay?”

            “Yes, Derek.”

            “Can you have a seat here on the couch with me? Try to relax.”

            “Yes, Derek.”

            “Okay, Morrell, let’s—uh—keep it kinda short, huh? We’re already—”

            “Short,” she agrees.  “I understand, and I agree it’s probably best.”

            “Good.”

            “So Stiles, can you tell me what you remember?”

            “Nothing,” he replies honestly before assuring the Alpha, “but I know what to do to be good.  I have good training. It’s all still here in my head. Rules and ways to be useful and—”

            “So you have knowledge but no memory,” Morrell interrupts.

            “Yes.”

            “What kind of rules and ways to be useful?”

            _It’s a test, isn’t it? This is a test to see if I’m worth fixing and keeping even after the seizure took the memories away.  Are you really a hunter? Do you have a deal to keep me if he decides to cast me out of the pack? Or are you a replacement? The addition to the pack who receives the bite if I’m found lacking? Either way, you won’t win.  I can still be an excellent beta.  I know I can._

“Nothing matters but the pack,” he says.  “My place is here, serving the pack in whatever way is required of me.  I know I should never strike a higher beta.  Nothing matters but the pack, and if I’m not being useful, I’m being a burden.  I won’t be, Derek.  I won’t be a burden; I promise.  I can do anything you want, anything you’ll allow me. I know how to be good.”

            “How’s that?” Morrell prompts.  “What will you do?”

            “Anything,” he repeats.  “Everything.  I can cook. I can help here in the house.  I can please you in bed, Derek, however you want.  I can run like prey until you catch me. I can find you a human to play with.  I can hold still or I can struggle whichever you like or you can fuck my mouth, and I won’t gag. I can—”

            “Stop,” Derek barks.  “Stop, that’s—that’s enough.”

            “I can learn new things if I don’t know enough, Derek.  Whatever you—”

            “You don’t have to prove anything, Stiles. You’re not going to be thrown out of the pack.  You always have a place here with us.  It’s okay.”

            “Thank you, Derek.” 

            _Does this mean I passed the test? Or is this a trick? Another layer of the test? I don’t understand. I don’t know what I should do.  You look so unhappy.  Didn’t anything I offered sound enjoyable to you?  Surely I can do something you’ll like._

“I think—I think that maybe we should wait before we go any further with the questions,” Derek says.  “There are—other people to consider.”

            “Yeah,” Isaac agrees.  “I think so too.”

            “Agreed,” Morrell adds.  “Though even just this time was useful.  I’ll compile my notes and see you later this week, Isaac?”

            “Sounds good.”

            “I’d appreciate the line remaining intact until I’m in the car.”

            “Of course.  The sheriff can break it for us.”

            “Yeah,” a middle-aged man confirms, entering the room.  “I got it, Holly.  Thanks for coming out.”

            She smiles and nods.  Stiles can’t stop the rumbling growl at the human, though there’s something oddly familiar about him. 

            “He’s a friend of the pack too,” Derek says.  “He’s your father.  He’s not a threat.  You are not allowed to hurt him under any circumstances, understand?”

            “Yes, Derek.”

            He’s trying to figure out why the man has tears coursing his cheeks if Derek’s so clearly stating he’s not to be harmed.  Then he notices the tears brimming in the Second’s eyes as well, and his unease intensifies. 

            _What did I do wrong? What’s wrong? What can’t I see? I don’t understand. Oh, God. I fucked up somehow.  I must’ve.  I said the wrong thing.  I didn’t pass the test, did I? You don’t think I’m worth fixing.  You’re all so unhappy._

He hits his knees, figuring the act can’t hurt his case. 

            “Derek, if I’ve done or said anything—”

            “It’s not your fault,” Derek assures.  “You don’t need to kneel.  You’re not going to be punished.  There are no punishments in this pack. In fact, things are much more lenient here than your training would have you expect.  We’ll explain it to you.  You don’t have to worry.  It’s all going to be just fine.”

            The Alpha smiles as he speaks, but it’s a poor façade for the clear displeasure underneath. 

            _I’m sorry.  I’ll figure out how to make it up to you though.  I’m good. I can be good. Whatever you want, Derek.  I can be good._

“Yes, Derek, thank you.”

 

********************************************************

 

            Stiles wakes in the guest room of his childhood home, confused at first and sluggish with sedative they must have given him to sleep.

            _No, not me. They must’ve given it to Wretch? If I’m here, that means I was Wretch._

He sifts through the scenes in his mind that belong to Damon, cringing as he realizes he’s talked to Morrell, embarrassed to hear the things that were shared.   Even more terrifying is the realization that Wretch must have taken over while she was still there. 

            _What did he say? He’d tell you anything if he thought Derek wanted him to.  He’s not like Damon; Wretch has no gauge for spotting the horrors the others don’t want to hear—that I don’t want the others to hear either._

_Oh fuck._

He sits up slowly, listening to see who’s been babysitting Wretch.   Isaac’s voice drifts in from out in the den.

            “But how do we—Stiles won’t talk about any of that. He doesn’t want to. We’ve tried.  I’m not even sure how much of it he really remembers.  We’ve already said there’s parts he’s blocking completely.  None of the personalities have full recall of time with the Alphas; Wretch’s memory never remains and  Damon and Stiles don’t have Wretch’s time either.  Maybe all that stuff is just filed away behind the same wall kind of?”

            “Maybe,” she concedes, “but he still needs to address it.”

            “It’s not like we didn’t know he was abused,” Isaac says.  “We can—can’t we just treat it generally? Lump it in with the other traumas for now?”

            “You heard the list of offers as well as I did, Isaac,” she reminds.  “You heard the pride in his voice when he told Derek everything he knew to do.  You heard Damon’s admission that he has good flashes of Alpha’s.”

            “That doesn’t mean it’s Stockholm.”

            “No,” she agrees, “I hesitate to definitively diagnose any of Stiles’ problems by typical nomenclature.  I don’t think it was entirely Stockholm, but I think we have to accept that, at some point, there was a part of Stiles that was very much at peace with being a beta for the Alpha Pack.  Alan’s mentioned before how terrified and bereft he was at being abandoned the night they left him at the office.  There’s a lot going on with him, and it’s another layer of the trauma that’s going to have to be examined at some point.”

            Stiles didn’t really decide to start walking, but he’s suddenly out in the hall, headed for the den. 

            “Hold on a second. I think he’s awake. I’ll call you later,” Isaac says, ending the call.  “Stiles?” he calls.  “Everything all right?”

            He opens his mouth to speak, but no words will form.  He walks into the den, meeting Isaac’s eyes, and the shame is so crushing and immediate that Stiles can’t breathe.  The world slows to a halt as the air leaves his lungs, then races at top speed with Isaac suddenly there beside him as Stiles starts to fall.  His vision blurs at the edges as his brain screams for oxygen, but he can’t catch his breath.  The smothering anxiety has its hold on him, and he can’t get away.  Isaac’s words are slow and slurred as he grabs at Stiles shoulders, trying to communicate a message Stiles can’t understand through the waves of panic.  He focuses his whole being on just trying to bring one good, deep breath into his body, but he can’t manage it.

            _Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God._

_They heard too much. Damon and Wretch said too much._

_Oh, fuck. Oh, God. Oh, fuck._

_What’re they going to think?_

_Oh, God, they’ll never look at me the same again after this. They can’t. They know and they can’t un-know._

_Oh, fuck._

            Stiles manages to bring his hands up, latching onto Isaac’s arms in a desperate attempt to feel grounded as the world keep spinning.  He feels himself falling, but Isaac doesn’t let him crash down.  They sit together on the floor; Isaac holds him tightly as he struggles for air, still murmuring reassurances that eventually become more and more clear.

            “It’s just a panic attack,” he soothes.  “It’s okay, Stiles.  It’ll pass.  Focus on my breathing; breathe with me.  You’re okay.  It’ll pass. You’re okay.”

            Eventually Stiles’ shuddering breaths do begin to match Isaac’s exaggeratedly deep ones, the lightheaded feeling fades and the world comes back into focus.  He still doesn’t loosen his hold on Isaac, terrified of the look of disgust he’ll see once he lets go and Isaac realizes which personality he’s with.

            _The fucked up little shit who let the alphas convince him he was happy with us,_ Rachel says.   _You didn’t serve us just out of fear.  You wanted our approval, our affection, our praise.  You craved it down to your bones.  You were content with your captivity and desolate when we abandoned you._

“I—I didn’t—didn’t know what—I was—doing,” Stiles manages to get out.  “Wasn’t—me.”

            “Shh, it’s okay. It’s all okay.”

            “I didn’t want them to say what they did.  I—”

            “They’re just voices, Stiles. They can’t hurt you anymore. Don’t listen.”

            _You think I’m still Wretch.  Fuck, I’m pathetic. Of course you think I am.  I’m panicking and sobbing in the floor._

“No, I—I’m—”

            “It’s true; I swear. They’re just in your head.”

            “No! I’m me!”

            “What?”

            “Stiles, real Stiles—just—just—I heard you talk to her— _fuck_ how much did Wretch say? Damon’s was bad enough but—”

            “Oh, God, Stiles, we didn’t—we thought it would be best overall, but we stopped Wretch once we realize how much he could share without you really wanting to.”

            “What did she ask him? What did he say? Did he tell you—”

            “Just—just some offers of what they taught you to do, and it was—Derek cut him off because we could tell—it’s things you don’t talk about that he just rattled off like it was nothing and—and I don’t know how we’re going to handle all of it, Stiles but there’s still _so much_ you haven’t told if those were the small things Wretch shares like nothing.  You—”

            “Don’t—just don’t, Isaac. I— _fuck_.”

            He pulls away, getting shakily to his feet.  Running fingers through his hair as his mind runs rampant with all the explanations he could give but everything seems futile.

            “Stiles, it’s okay.”

            “No, it’s not.”

            “It’s completely understandable.”

            “Really?!” he demands.  “Really? Then explain it to me, Isaac, because I sure as _fuck_ don’t understand.  How could I—I—wanted to—” his words choke off as the bile rises in his throat, unbidden memories flooding in.

            _Well done, beta, Thomas praises as he withdraws from his beta’s aching body._

_He held still for all of it—no matter where Thomas burned him or which flesh he filleted or how hard he fucked—he held still and only vocalized, not struggled.   He did as he was told. He was as good as he could possibly be._

_And the Alpha agrees._

_The surge of pride almost overshadows the rest of the agony as his body struggles to heal.  He can’t stop the small smile that graces his face for just a moment before he gets his expression in check.  Thomas turns in the doorway, examining his handiwork with a smile, and beta is careful not to move; Thomas may have more planned for him; he should be patient and ready._

_“You may clean yourself up in the bathroom,” Thomas allows.  “You’re dismissed for the evening.  Complete your usual kitchen duties at eight o’clock and you may sleep.”_

_“Thank you, Alpha.”_

“No, no, no,” Stiles whines, turning from Isaac and sickened with the sense of satisfaction the memory draws to the surface.  “I didn’t—I just—I hated them, all of them.  I’m glad they’re dead—glad I helped kill them.  I am! I _hated_ them _all._ ”

            “Of course you hate them,” Isaac agrees, “but for a while they were all you knew.  It’s understandable that you would become attached once your memories were gone.  You were trying to survive.”

            “Ever wonder if it would’ve been better if I hadn’t?” Stiles asks bitterly, words out of his mouth before he means them to be.  “I didn’t mean that. I’m being stupid. I—”

            “You’re not being stupid,” Isaac counters.  “It’s more than any mind should have to handle; not many people could come as far as you have.”

            “But nowadays I’m just backtracking.”

            “No—you took the shortcut the first time.”

            “So what? This is the scenic route? Cause I could do with a little less scenery.”

            “I know, but this—it’s not going to be easy, but it’s going to be worth it.”

            “You don’t know that.”

            “I know that you’re the strongest, most stubborn son of a bitch I’ve ever known,” Isaac says, “and you’re way too tenacious to let them beat you.  And I know that Derek and I—and your Dad and Scott and the whole fucking pack—love you way too much to _ever_ stop supporting you while you try to figure things out; no matter what we hear Damon or Wretch say.”

            “I’m adding that to my resume,” Stiles says, grasping at the chance for humor to catapult them out of this god-awful conversation. 

            “Huh?”

            “Stiles Hale: stubborn son of a bitch,” he explains.  “Maybe I’ll get business cards with it too.  Sign it on the kids’ school papers.  It’ll be great.”

            Isaac grins at him, offering a hand.  “God, I miss you when you’re not here,” he says as their fingers lace together.  “Ready to go home or you want a little more time?”

            “Home.”

            _Where checkers and cartoons and finger-painting and math homework will distract me from the hell in my head._

 

            

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks again to SlitheringAngel and his excellent feedback and input!
> 
> thanks to all of you for reading! :) 
> 
> This is also just another PSA reminder that the mental disorders in this fic are plot-serving, not necessarily real-to-life.


	12. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To steal a phrase from Dean Winchester: Happy Unattached Drifter Christmas! :D
> 
> You know I show my love via angst, right?

            “You look tired,” Morrell comments as he takes his seat in her office. 

            She lays the line of precautionary ash on the floor.   He tries not to show how claustrophobic it makes him feel.  He doubts it’s working; his hands start to tremble and beads of sweat form on his brow. 

            _It’s a trap; you can see that, can’t you, you idiot? They send you here to her and one day they’ll never come to get you.  You can rot here for all they care while they leave your pathetic, damaged ass and this godforsaken town in the rearview mirror._

Stiles grits his teeth and manages to quell the urge to argue with Thomas aloud.  He focuses on Morrell’s question instead.

            “Yeah, tired,” he agrees.

            “Still not sleeping well?”

            “No. Not even sedated.  My body’s still, but the nightmares are still in my head.  I still wake up wanting to scream; I just have more time to hide it before the sedative’s worn off and I could run or attack like I want to.”

            “Have you told Derek and Isaac that it’s not working?”

            “No,” he replies.

            “Why not?”

            “Because there’s not a hell of a lot they can do to help me anyway; I’m not telling them one of the few methods they’ve got is gone.”

            “Is that really fair to them?”

            “Is any of this fair?”

            “Of course not, but is that an excuse to lie?”

            “I’m not lying, not really. I’m just not pointing out the problem.”

            “Stiles, we’ve talked about being more open with them about—”

            “I know.  I’ve done—other stuff we talked about.  Telling them more about the nightmares and flashbacks and all.”

            Technically, Stiles doesn’t talk about them—he doesn’t really want to have conversations about them and the kids damn sure don’t need to overhear the atrocities—he keeps a journal nowadays, cataloging the endless hellish scenes that plague him more and more these days.  Isaac and Derek read the pages, and he hates the pain that darkens their eyes when they take it in.  Still, there’s something soothing in sharing the horror with someone; something validating in having them fathom all the hellish moments that mutilated his brain into a jumbled mess of terror and trauma.

            “Isaac emailed the copy.  I think it’s very brave of you to share some of those moments, Stiles; I know they must be ones you were too hesitant to share when Derek was still able to block memories.”

            “Brave or not, those stories aren’t something I want the whole pack to know, so don’t—”

            “I understand.”

            “Good.”

            “There are a number of them that seem to involve the alphas taking you from your current pack.”

            “Don’t tell me you find that surprising.”

            “Not at all, but I do wonder—do you ever have nightmares in which you go back willingly?”

            Stiles grimaces as guilt churns in his gut at the suggestion.  She’s right of course, and they both know it.  Maybe Stiles should be embarrassed to be so easily read, but mostly he’s just livid that she’d even breach this subject.

            “Why would you even ask me that?”

            “Why are you reluctant to answer the question?”

            “I told you I don’t have Stockholm syndrome!” he hisses.

            “And I told you that I’m not trying to claim you do, _but_ I think there are some things you need to resolve about the months that you spent with them not knowing who you really were.”

            “I don’t remember being with them; I told you that.”

            “That’s why I didn’t ask you anything about that,” she reminds, and her unwaveringly calm tone grates on Stiles nerves.  “I asked if you ever have nightmares in which you go back with the alphas willingly.”

            “You’ve read the diary; anything in there?” he wonders through he knows the answer is ‘no.’

            “The easy admission from both Damon and Wretch of what you were willing to do in the time you were—”

            “Shut up.”

            “—with the Alphas brought on a panic attack.”

            “I said shut up.”

            “So I naturally assume that if you _were_ having—”

            “I said SHUT UP!” Stiles commands, rising to his feet as his teeth elongate into fangs.

            “—nightmares that might involve voluntarily leaving your pack, you wouldn’t share them.”

            She’s barely blinked at his outburst.  She doesn’t shy back from his slight transformation.   She just sits with her placid, neutral expression awaiting Stiles’ reply.  Something dark in the depths of Stiles’ minds craves a chance to make the human fear him properly.

            _You have no idea what I’m capable of you insolent—_

The clock on her bookshelf chimes the half hour, and breaks the heinous thought.  Stiles shakes his head in denial of it, pushing the idea away.

            _No, I don’t want that. I don’t want to do that. I’m not what they made me. I’m not theirs. I belong with this pack. My pack. Who loves me. I hate the alpha pack with every fiber of my being. I do. I do. I do._

 _Every single fiber?_ Rachel wonders. _Because your nightmares suggest otherwise, beta. Good little beta.  We never should have left you behind. Come back to us; come back with us.  It will be so simple.  You know just what to do when—_

“No!” Stiles shrieks.  “NO!”

            He doesn’t recall making the decision, but in the next instant the claws of his right hand are raking up his left leaving behind deft, deep slashes that immediately begin to ooze crimson.

            “Stiles!” Morrell shouts.

            She reaches a hand toward the ash line, as though weighing the cost of breaking it.  Stiles shakes his head.

            “No,” he tells her through gritted teeth.  “Don’t—I’m—I’m fine. Just—a little loud in my head for a minute. I’m fine.”

            “You’re not ‘fine’,” she counters, “You’re using pain to keep control because it draws your focus away from the mental damage. If this is too much for you today, we can end the session, _but_ I like to think that confiding in _someone_ will help you.  I’m neutral ground, Stiles.  I can be that person if you can talk to me.”

            _Is it worth the risk?_

_She’s kept all my secrets before._

He stares down at the slowly healing flesh of his arm as he contemplates his next choice.   

            _She’s right. I’m not okay. I’m so fucking not okay.  She “likes to think confiding in someone will help”._

_Fuck, I hope she’s right._

Stiles can’t force the acquiescence out verbally, so he nods slowly instead.

            “You can start with whatever you like, wherever you like,” she tells him, “and this session can last as long as it needs to.  I understand if it’s difficult to phrase—”

            “Just—don’t tell Isaac any of this for his research.  I don’t want—this is _just_ between you and me. That’s it.  Don’t even tell them what we talked about just—just tell them it was good or bad or however you wanna phrase it, but I don’t—just—”

            “You have my word,” she assures.  “Just between us.”

            Stiles nods, surprised at the relief of the promise and the trust he still holds for this odd woman who keeps her distance and yet tries so hard to help.  He’s pretty sure not even another psychologist could get a full read on Holly Morrell.  She waits patiently for Stiles to begin talking, but Stiles has no idea where. 

            “I don’t even—how do I—” he stumbles.  “Do that thing where you ask me questions that make me want to punch you in the face,” he requests.

            She smirks at the comment but obliges, “Damon mentioned flashbacks he’s gotten of good moments with the alphas—Thomas, Alec—you see at least his versions of the flashbacks, correct?”           

“Uh-huh.”

“So you’ve known for a while there was part of you that wasn’t so miserable with the alpha pack.”

“That wasn’t me; it was Wretch or Damon or—it _wasn’t_ me.”

“I understand that you didn’t have a full grasp of the situation, but it _was_ you Stiles.  It was your brain that was there learning how to survive, and there is absolutely nothing to be ashamed of in that.  Your motivations were good even if the acts themselves—”

“I know. I just—I don’t understand how that bit can still be wedged in my brain now that I have full knowledge of just how shitty they were.”

“It’s a conflicting perception to conquer, certainly.”

“So how to we conquer the perception?” he quips back. 

“Maybe you don’t.”

“What?”

“Maybe you don’t conquer it,” she expounds.  “Perhaps you simply accept it.”

            “Oh, just ‘simply accept’,” Stiles repeats dubiously.  “Sure, yeah, I’ll get right on that.  Just embrace the fucked up bits of me that want to return to the psychopaths who made my life a living hell for months and left so much damage I don’t even fucking know how to function.”

            “Yes, accept it,” she repeats, “because like it or not, some basal level of your psyche would take that reality over the current one; it could be attributed to any number of reasons: fear of the extensive freedom, apprehension at the integral role you play in the Hale pack, the simplicity of—”

“Simplicity,” Stiles interrupts, word leaving his lips before he can process why.

_“We really must confuse the hell out of you,” Peter says pityingly, moving slowly to stand directly in front of Stiles. “Your life was so much simpler before this.”_

It’s a memory that he’s scene several times in flashbacks and nightmares, but it doesn’t make him any more ready to think of it.  The bile still rises in his throat, and he still wishes _so_ badly that he could have killed Peter himself.

“Can you tell me what that means to you in this context?” she prods gently.

“Just—something—something Peter said before the first time he—uh—when he—uh—”

            “Took advantage of you?” Morrell supplies.

            Stiles nods, grateful he doesn’t have to form the words aloud.  “The logic for the—arrangement—was that I needed something simple since I was so confused by this pack compared to the alphas.”

            “A memory from your early days back with your pack,” she comments. 

            Stiles nods again; he doesn’t have many of those, and he wishes Peter was in much less of them. 

            “You—at that point of your recovery anyway—obviously agreed on some level with the logic then,” she says, and Stiles nods again as the sick feeling in his stomach grows ever stronger.  “And at this point in your recovery,” she goes on, “do you agree on any level with that logic now?”

            _No._

_No. of course not._

_How fucked up would I be to think that they were better because they were simpler.  Why should I want simple, demeaning tasks instead of full, chaotic, loved-filled life? Why would I want that?_

_No. No that can’t be it._

But it is, and Stiles knows it—has known for a while now, and maybe that’s why this is so difficult.  Because life has turned into one huge, never-ending gauntlet of complications that stemmed from returning from the alphas.  Choices, responsibilities, people to love, people to protect, children to raise, husbands to cherish, options upon options with endless paths to triumph or catastrophe.

_So many variables. So little predictability. So many shades of gray._

_Simple. Simple was good._

_No, no. simple was good, but this chaos is better._

_Isn’t it?_

The closest he can get to conveying the turmoil now rampant in his mind is a whispered, “Maybe.”

 

********************************************************

 

            “Hello?” Isaac answers when Stiles’ name pops on the caller ID. 

            “All clear,” Stiles replies, and he sounds exhausted.  “Wanna come pick me up?”

            “Yeah, see you soon,” Isaac replies, grabbing keys off the table.

            Someone always waits at the sheriff’s until Stiles is done; it’s well out of earshot but only a ten minute drive to Morrell’s office. 

            “How’s he sound?” the sheriff wonders, and Isaac pauses on his way to the door.

            “Tired,” Isaac answers with a shrug, “but maybe that’s a good thing.  Progress is hard.”

            He nods, and Isaac can’t help walking back toward him to put a hand on his shoulder; it’s odd, usually this happens the other way around.  Then again, something broke in Pop the day he heard his son’s alter ego rattle off the atrocious acts that the alphas bid him do.  It took everything to a new level of grief for him, and Isaac can’t even fathom how he’d feel in the same situation.

            “I know that it’s—I can’t even imagine if it was Collin who—I wish—”

“You know it’s almost as bad as Claudia,” the sheriff says quietly, and Isaac’s whole body tenses at just the mention of her name.  “Standing by, helpless, while he fights something that—maybe it couldn’t take him away like a physical disease, but—we could lose him all the same and—I feel absolutely useless.”

“I think we all do,” Isaac admits, “but he’s gonna be okay.  He’s too stubborn to give up on us; we won’t lose him.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“Hey, would you mind grabbing some take-out from Caroline’s and bringing it out to the house? Stiles might not be in the mood to make dinner, and that way I won’t have to leave him in the car to go in myself.”

“Of course,” the sheriff replies.  “Just you three, the kids, and me?”

“Cora’s back in town; she’ll probably be in a fierce game of risk with Collin.”

“He’s _still_ convinced he can beat her?”

“Oh, totally determined to,” Isaac confirms.  “You know him; he doesn’t give up easily.”

“Oh, I know; he’s just as bull-headed as his fathers.”

“Thanks a lot,” Isaac grumbles with a roll of his eyes, but he’s smiling along with the sheriff.

Maybe both smiles are a little too forced, but they’re trying. 

_That’s the main thing, right?_

“See ya at the house.”

The drive to Morrell’s is faster than usual; Isaac hits all the green lights.  He’s thinking it might just be a good omen until he catches sight of Stiles.  His face is colorless and his hands are trembling when he reaches for the door handle to climb into the passenger seat.  He plops down unceremoniously as though he’s run a marathon.  Going by the look on his face, Isaac honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he puked any moment now. 

“Anything I can do?” Isaac wonders.

Stiles shakes his head, and, much to Isaac’s confusion, a small smile spreads over Stiles face.  

“No, I’m—pretty—good,” Stiles replies, seeming as flabbergasted to hear it as Isaac feels.  “Not like—I mean it sucked but—I kinda feel—lighter? Maybe?”

“Good,” Isaac says, returning the smile, and offering a hand across the console for Stiles to take.  “Caroline’s for dinner good with you? Your Dad offered to pick it up for us.”

“Sounds perfect.”

 

***********************************************

 

            “How is it that you manage to be more of a messy eater than the kids?” Derek wonders, reaching to wipe ketchup from the corner of Stiles’ lips.

            There are few dishes to wash up tonight—just some glasses and utensils—but Stiles is drawing out the task, watching the kids, his father, and Isaac out the back window.  Derek gets the feeling that Stiles would love to just crash for the night right now, but he rarely gives up time with the kids.  He hasn’t been sleeping so well lately anyway; the werewolf regeneration abilities may keep the bags from forming under his eyes, but the weariness is still there. 

            “You have no game, Derek Hale,” Stiles informs.

            “Shut up,” Derek mutters with a roll of his eyes.

            “There are _such_ better ways you could’ve played that,” Stiles tells him, leaning in to bring his lips to Derek with a flick of his tongue taking care of the imaginary ketchup on Derek’s own lips.  “See?”

            “Mmm,” Derek agrees, smiling into the kiss.

            As quickly as it started the kiss ends with Stiles pulling away, eyes shut tight and teeth grinding together as his face contorts into a grimace.  

            _This is why I didn’t try the kiss for the ketchup thing.  I know you see them when you touch us—when we touch you. Maybe not every time, but often enough.  Every time we make contact I hold my breath until I see you’re okay._

It absolutely _wrecks_ Derek that contact with Stiles is no longer reasonably assured to be good.  They’ve been increasingly careful with him as the trauma seeps more and more into his main personality, but no matter how careful these days it seems there’s just as much chance the touch will harm as help.  It makes Derek feel more inadequate than ever at helping Stiles thought this.  He doesn’t know how to talk to him about all of it—knows Stiles doesn’t necessarily want to talk about it.  Now the ability to hold him close or kiss him to distraction or any number of other forms of comfort Derek could offer are becoming impossible too. 

            “I’m okay,” Stiles says, grimace turning back to a smile that’s not fooling Derek one bit.  “Just a little hitch.”

            Derek tries to smile back, but he can’t quiet manage it. 

            “Hey,” Stiles says, offering a hand that Derek of course takes while praying it doesn’t trigger any memory.  “Seriously, it’s just a little hitch,” Stiles repeats.  “Don’t worry,” he adds, pulling their hands up so he can grace the back of Derek’s with a quick kiss. 

            _I always worry._

*****************************************

 

            Stiles wakes with a start, jostling Isaac and Derek but not fully attacking.  Alec’s voice is still ringing in his ears as he shushes them back to sleep and rises to make breakfast.

            _Just need a little distraction. I’m fine. I think I’ll make waffle sticks so the kids—and who am I kidding the three of us too—can make those little log cabins. That’ll be good._

He turns on the radio, humming along as he works.

            “Winslow Brothers’ Tires,” an advertisement announces, “Servicing Beacon Hills since—”

            Unbidden, the memory of a billboard rises in his mind, seen through the pane of a window he barely remembers, something from the time of his captivity that he’s forced to the back of his mind.  He blinks, trying to see anything else but he can’t—just the billboard, and Jerry and Johnny Winslow’s grinning faces unknowingly taunting the beta who couldn’t escape what was coming.  The terror seeps in, a sense of foreboding Stiles doesn’t understand and doesn’t _want_ to understand.

            The sharp ring of metal against the tile floor of the kitchen brings him back to the present.  He dropped the mixing bowl on the tile and batter spattered everywhere.  What’s worse, the bowl seems to have hit at just the right angle and force to crack the ceramic tile they _just_ repaired from an episode two weeks ago.    

            _Fuck._

Stiles grabs a towel to kneel and start cleaning the mess. 

 

***************************

 

            Isaac sits bolt upright in bed at the sound of clattering dishes in the kitchen.  The next instant he takes in the sound of Stiles’ voice muttering “it’s okay; it’s okay; it’s okay.”

            _Shit. Sounds like Damon’s here._

He bolts for the kitchen with Derek on his heels.

            “I’m sorry, Derek, I’ll clean it all up. I promise I didn’t mean—”

            “It’s okay, Damon,” Derek soothes.  “I’m sure it was an accident. Nothing to worry about.”

            “I—I’m not—I didn’t mean—no—no, no, no, this can’t—no,” Damon replies, panic in his face and voice as he struggles for words. 

            To Isaac’s surprise, Damon rises to his feet and bolts for the backdoor.  Isaac and Derek follow of course, and when they reach him, it seems as though he’s on the verge of either puking or sobbing.  Isaac doesn’t understand at first until Damon turns away and mutters, “Goddammit.”

            “You’re not Damon,” Derek says before Isaac gets a chance. 

            “Nope,” Stiles croaks out, not turning back to face them. 

            “Shit, I didn’t mean to—”

            “It’s not your fault; I was—”

            “Derek?” Addie calls from inside.  “Stiles? Isaac?”

            “Hey, baby, we’re right here,” Stiles says, pushing past Derek and Isaac to be the first one back in.

            “Oh.”

            “I had a bad memory for a second,” Stiles tells her, “I just needed some fresh air though.  I’m better now.”

            “Oh.  Good.”

            “Wanna help me make breakfast? I’m thinking waffle sticks to build cabins with, whatcha say?”

            “I want a waffle princess tower.”

            “Princess tower it is then,” he agrees, “but _first_ every good chef needs some war paint,” he tells her, running his fingers through some of the spilled batter and swiping two stripes under her eyes.

            “Gross!” she cries with a grimace, reaching for some retaliation ammunition and smearing batter across Stiles’ forehead with a giggle.

            “War paint is not gross,” he says with a perfectly straight face.  “It’s the most important part of making the waffles taste right.”          

            “You don’t usually need war paint.”

            “And they usually taste good,” he concedes, “but this time they’ll taste even better.”

            “Okay,” she answers, still skeptical. 

            “Take two,” Stiles announces, picking up the spilled bowl and depositing it into the sink.  He grabs a new one and starts over from scratch.  Addie zips around gathering ingredients with a smile on her face, and by the time Collin wanders downstairs ten minutes later, you’d barely know anything went wrong this morning.

            It’s not until later in the afternoon when Addie lays down for a nap, Stiles opts for some sedated sleep, and Collin treks out to the tree house that Isaac and Derek get a chance to talk about what happened.

            “I called him Damon,” Derek says, skipping any attempt to pretend there’s anything else to talk about right now.

            “He was acting like Damon.”

            “But he wasn’t Damon, and I called him Damon.  I can’t believe I—”

            “We knew this was coming,” Isaac reminds.  “In theory anyway.  Well, we at least knew it was a possibility.  It’s a good sign kind of, isn’t it? Maybe he’s merging more? It’s not a bad thing.”

            “I called him Damon,” Derek repeats, guilt unwavering.

            “He _is_ Damon,” Isaac counters, perhaps a little more snippy than he intended.  “The whole goal here is to make them into one; if you can’t tell the difference, that means his brain is healing like it’s supposed to.”

            _Right? I mean—it’s the point, but it’s still—it’s all weird and confusing and I can’t even imagine how it felt to him to be seen as Damon when he thinks of Damon as the weak shadow of himself.  Fuck.  We have to be positive about it though.  That’s the important thing. Stay positive._

“I’m not sure I’m ready to see Stiles like that again,” Derek murmurs, “I mean, it’s not—not like it’s easy to watch Damon or anything but—but it’s been years since it was really Stiles who—you know what I mean it’s just—worse, somehow.”

            “Yeah,” Isaac affirms, leaning into Derek; he’s not sure who he’s trying to comfort with the contact, but he’s got a feeling they both need it.  Derek wraps his arms around Isaac, holding him close.

            “You think he’ll hate us when it’s over? When he’s all merged back to one and he never gets a break from everything that happened?”

            “No.”

            “You mean you hope not.”

            “I really don’t think—”

            “But could you blame him if he did?”

            “Whatever hellish shit may come,” Isaac reminds, holding up his left hand and wriggling his fingers.  “Stiles won’t hate us, even if he does get pissed.  He knows we love him and we’re trying to do the best thing for him.”

            Derek mumbles general agreement, but there’s no doubt the subject is still heavy on his mind.   Isaac tries not to let the worry take hold of his own thoughts, but it isn’t easy.  All the usual questions arise despite his best efforts:

            _Was I selfish to suggest studying the case? Maybe I should have turned down the study and focused solely on Stiles without the academic side? Should we have done this differently? Should we have done it at all? Are we pushing limits we should have left alone? What if he never recovers fully? What if our problems end up fucking up our kids’ psyche? How do you really mend damage like this? How do any of us leave it behind us? Oh God, what are we going to do? How do we help him the most? What’s best? What if we make the wrong choices?_

 

****************************************************

           

            He regains consciousness on his hands and knees, head pounding, staring down at white tile.  Judging by the dim light through the east-facing window it’s early morning.  

            _Where am I?_

_What happened?_

There’s no heartbeat nearby, but he looks around in search of the Alpha who must have dealt memory-taking punishment to him.  It’s the only explanation.

            _Isn’t it?_

Another possibility comes to mind.

            _Seizure?_

_Could that really be it? Seizure? Not punishment? But what Alpha would keep a beta with a weakness like that? Why would I think that? Where did that come from?_

The timer on the oven beeps, and he winces at the noise, cowering before he can stop himself.  Then he scrambles to check whatever dish must be ready.  The wonderful smell of blueberry muffins wafts from the oven when he opens the door.  His mouth waters immediately, and he can’t help hoping the Alpha won’t want them all.  No sooner has the thought of the Alpha crossed his mind than he hears approaching footsteps from the hall.  He hits his knees as the Alpha and Second come around the corner.

            “Oh—uh—um—morning,” the Alpha stutters.  “You—uh—I know you’re probably confused right now, but you have seizures, and you forget.  It’s okay.”

            “Thank you, Alpha.”

            “You’re—uh—you’re not Damon by chance, are you?”

            “No, my name is Stiles,” he replies, mouth working before he can comprehend the presumptuous statement that slips out.  He doesn’t even know where that name came from.  He backtracks immediately, “I mean—I need no name, Alpha. I’m a beta.  It’s my place in the pack that—”

            “No, you’re right,” the Alpha interrupts, and he sounds oddly pleased; he’s actually smiling.  “You’re absolutely, right, Stiles.  That’s what you’re called here.  You’re Stiles, and I’m Derek and this is Isaac.”

            “Yes, Derek.”

            _I’m right? How am I right when I don’t even know where it comes from? Why do we need names if we’re all pack?_

            “You can get up, Stiles; you don’t need to kneel here. There’s no punishments. It works differently here.”

            “There’s a list here,” he adds, unbidden words tumbling from his tongue again, but Derek smile only widens.

            “Yeah, there’s a list,” he confirms.  “How much do you remember, Stiles?”

            “I—not much—I—” he stutters.  “I don’t mean to—the words just—it’s there, in my head and I don’t know where they come from, but—but I’ll be good.  I’ll stop it. I’ll be quiet and good now. Please just—”

            “Hey, hey, it’s all right; you usually don’t remember anything at all, so any little bits of things you get if fantastic, okay? You don’t have to be afraid, even if it goes against what you think your training should be.  I won’t be angry; no one will punish you.  We’ll help explain so that you can understand a little better, okay?”

            “Yes, Derek.”

            _Please God explain because I don’t understand any of it.  What’s going on? What do I do? How do I perform as a good beta here?_

*********************************

 

            “Are you sure he’s Wretch?” Collin wonders quietly as the sounds of the Camaro fading down the drive reach their ears.  “Maybe we don’t have to send him to Pop’s.  Maybe—”

            “We’re sure enough, Collin; we’re trying to play it safe.”    

            “He knew my name; Wretch doesn’t know my name.  He—”

            “All the personalities are blending,” Isaac reminds, “but he’s still mostly Wretch.  So like I said we’re playing it safe.”

            Collin’s quiet, but Isaac can sense unsaid words in the worry in his son’s face.  He waits for whatever gut-wrenching concern Collin voices this time. 

            _You’re too young for this,_ he thinks for the billionth time.

            “Hey, Isaac?” Colin says finally.

            “Yeah?”

            “What happens if—if when they all blend together and stuff—what happens if Stiles isn’t the one mostly there? What do we do then?”

            “That’s not gonna happen, kiddo; Stiles has got years of good things to put into it, and new good things you and Addie and the pack.  Damon and Wretch won’t weigh in more than that.  He’ll be Stiles.  Don’t worry.”

“Don’t lie to me ‘cause I’m a kid,” Collin replies somberly.

            “I’m not lying to you.”

            _Unless I’m also just lying to myself._

“Can I go with you when you swap with Derek later?”

            “No.”

            “I need to learn to—”

            “You’ve got plenty of time to learn.  You can—”

            “You don’t know that,” Collin spits back, and there’s terror behind the anger now that make Isaac’s heart ache even worse. 

_What’s scaring you? How long’ve you been bottling it up?_

“Maybe I’ll need to know sooner than you think,” Collin continues, “and I won’t know what I need to because—”

            “You don’t have to worry about that.  You’re not—”

            “You can’t make that promise!” Collin rages, transitioning to full tantrum mode.  “You’re a liar!”

            “That’s _enough_. I know you’re upset, but—”

            “A _liar_!” Collin insists, crowding into Isaac’s space and glaring daggers up at him.  “You say it’s all gonna be fine, and you can’t know that, not ever. Nobody ever knows that! It’s not fine! It’s not okay! I’m not some little kid you have to lie to! Tell me the truth! Let me help! Stop acting like I’m—”

            “Dammit, Collin, you are _not_ old enough to—”

            “Shut up!” Collin commands, shoving at Isaac with a growl; Isaac barely reigns in a similar outburst.  “Don’t tell me what I’m not old enough to deal with!” he goes on.  “How old was Derek when his family died?” Collin demands.  “How old was Uncle Scott when he got bitten? How old was Stiles when they kidnapped him? How old were you when your Dad started beating—”

            “Who the hell told you about that?!” Isaac demands, fury and pain threatening to smother him at the unexpected question.

            “How OLD?!” Collin demands.  “Hunters killed my whole family! Just like Derek’s! Don’t tell me I’m not old enough for shit! I’m a werewolf! I’m gonna be an Alpha! All werewolves grow up quick! Grandad said it all the time! We have to grow up and take responsibility, but you won’t let me!  I’m not just some dumb kid!”

            “Don’t you talk to me like—”

            “Fuck you!”

            “Watch your mouth or so help me I will—”

            “Hit me?” Collin finishes with a mirthless grin.  “Lock me in the freezer?”

It’s only then that Isaac realizes he’s got Collin against the living room wall, gripping his son’s shoulders in a bruising hold.

            _Did I shake him? How long have I had him backed against the wall? What the hell am I doing? Oh, my God._

_No. I can’t be doing this. This isn’t happening._

_No, no, no._

He releases Collin immediately, taking several steps back and struggling to breathe evenly again. Collin doesn’t move, just glares at Isaac.

            “I’m sorry. I lost my temper.  I didn’t mean to hurt you I just—it’s been—things are—”

            “Things are way worse than you tell me,” Collin finishes.  “Don’t tell me they’re not.”

            “Why would you—”

“I read your notes.”

“You _what_?”

“I read your notes for your research stuff,” Collin repeats unashamedly. 

“You had _no_ business going through my—”

“Nobody tells me anything! Not really.  Stiles is supposed to be getting better, but he’s getting worse! All you ever say it that he’ll be okay, but he might not be and you know it! It’s all in your notes, over and over again, all the things that might go wrong.  Maybe I didn’t understand all of it, but I know he could just split into more personalities, and you never said that might happen.  He could have Post Traumatic Stress Disease—no, Disorder. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and it could get worse and worse instead of better and maybe never go away.  He was three people so that his brain would be okay, and if he goes back to just one he might not be! Why would you let him? Why would you want him to risk—”

“Collin it’s more complicated than you can—”

“Then _explain_ it!”

“I can’t!”

            “You can’t explain it or you just don’t want to tell me?”

            “This isn’t your responsibility.”

            “I want it to be! I’m trying to help! I want to help, but all you do is send us away or take Stiles away and _lie_ about him being all right again! He’s _never_ going to be all right again, so I may as well—”

            “Yes, he will!” Isaac growls, stepping forward before he can stop himself.

            For all Collin’s bravado, he still cowers back from Isaac’s advance.  For just a moment the look of righteous fury gives way to fear—fear of Isaac, Isaac who is supposed to be Collin’s father now, who is supposed to protect him and make him feel safe and keep him from all of the horrible things going on in the background—and Isaac thinks he might die from the smothering guilt at causing that reaction.   

“I’m not some dumb kid,” Collin repeats, bolting out of the room before Isaac can collect himself enough to speak.

            _No, you’re not some dumb kid._

_And I’m not my dad.  I lost my temper, but I’m not my dad._

_Am I?_

***********************************************************

 

            Derek looks out the front window when he hears a car pull up.  Isaac gets slowly from the car, walking up to the front door like his legs are made of lead.  The misery in his face is so apparent that Derek’s chest immediately clenches in panic.  He hears a growl from Wretch in the next room, no doubt sensing the shift in emotion.

            “It’s okay,” Derek calls to him.  “It’s Isaac.  Don’t worry. Just keep doing what you’re doing.”

            “Yes, Derek.”

            Derek opens the door to meet Isaac on the porch, reaching for him the moment he’s close enough.

            “Hey, what is it? What’s wrong?” he wonders, dreading the answer.

            “Everything,” Isaac replies quietly, leaning into Derek and holding on tight.

            “Don’t say that, Isaac,” Derek replies.  “Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.”

            _You’re the strong, collected one, remember? You can’t give up and say everything’s wrong.  You find the silver linings._

_But I guess it’s my turn this round._

            “It’s not something we can just figure out; it’s not that easy,” Isaac counters.

            “Tell me what happened.  Is it the kids or you or—”

            “Collin,” Isaac answers.  “We—uh—he’s upset and pissed about everything going on with Stiles, and he—he found all my notes for my thesis; he says he read all of them.”

            “He _what_?”

            “I never thought about it before.  They’re just sitting there in those boxes in our rooms.  They’re just hard copies because I’ve heard too many horror stories about people losing their whole set of notes and—and I didn’t think that—I never expected him to go looking for them.  Surely he didn’t really read all of them, but Derek, the shit in that box—it’s every deep dark secret and bad day and—and _nothing_ a kid should be reading, much less _our_ kid reading it all about _us._ ”

            “It is not your fault that he snooped through your stuff,” Derek assures. “He knows better. He—” 

            “He says it was the only way he’d get the whole story,” Isaac says.  “He’s pissed we don’t include him with everything that happens with Stiles.”

            “We shouldn’t.  He’s just a kid.”

            “Well, whatever we would have told him would have been better than him finding out through those notes!”

            “Not. Your. Fault,” Derek reminds.  “Look, I’ll talk to him, okay? I’ll try to get a gauge for how much he knows, and we’ll talk to him.”

            “He’s not going to talk to me.”

            “Why not? Because you didn’t share the—”

            “He knows about my dad.”

            “What?”

            “There’s notes in there about it—just—stuff I was noting for when I draw comparisons between my level of abuse and his, and Collin must have read it.”

            “Oh, well he—”

            “That’s not the problem.”

            “Then what?”

            “I—kind of—lost it on him and—I just—I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me. How could I—”

            “What did you do? Did you—Isaac you wouldn’t hit him; I know you wouldn’t.”

            _Right? Please God tell me I’m right.  You’ll never forgive yourself if you did, and Collin might not either.  I know what it must’ve done to you to have him bring up your dad out of the blue, but you wouldn’t hurt him._

“No, I didn’t but—Derek I grabbed him and shoved him back against the wall and everything.  I could’ve—he was _scared_ of me when I stepped toward him later.  I shouldn’t—there’s no excuse for— _fuck,”_ Isaac rambles on before hiding his face in Derek’s chest again. 

            “Life’s been extra stressful lately; he was picking a fight; he brought up your Dad and maybe you didn’t handle all that in the best way, but it’s not the end of the world,” Derek replies, wrapping his arms tightly around Isaac. “I’ll talk to him; you’ll talk to him.  It’ll be just fine.  Don’t worry.”

            “Don’t worry?” Isaac repeats incredulously, turning his head to the side so he can speak.  “Derek, this isn’t the first time I’ve—”

            “Lost your temper; it happens.”

            “Derek—”

            “This is nothing like what happened before.  You didn’t totally lose it. ”

            _You didn’t snap like you did with the Anderson kid. That was years ago—a fucking lifetime ago.  You’re so much better now._

            “I could have,” Isaac persists. “I—what if I had really hurt—I lost control for a second, and—that’s—I can’t—maybe Stiles isn’t the only one losing his fucking mind here; maybe—”

            “Isaac, stop it.  You made a mistake; it happens.  It doesn’t make you a bad father.  We’ll work it out.”    

            _Don’t worry that you’re turning into your dad.  Don’t. You’re not him.  You’re more patient and understanding than me or Stiles. You’re an excellent father.  You aren’t your dad.  You’re not perfect, but you’re nothing near the monster he was._

*************************************************

 

            _Maybe Stiles isn’t the only one losing his fucking mind here._

He catches the phrase because he hears his name; he didn’t mean to eavesdrop.

            _Of course you meant to,_ a voice counters.

            Stiles turns sharply and searches the room for the source, fangs and claws extending when he doesn’t see the immediate threat.

            _Going to fight me? Pathetic, disobedient, wretch.  You can’t. You can’t fight any of us. We’re here, in your head, and there’s no escaping us._

 _She’s right,_ a second voice agrees.  _You’ll never quiet this din.  We’ll never give you another moment’s peace, you little shit._

_You should thank us, really, for reminding you of your place.  We’ll make sure that no matter how many memories you lose you will never, ever forget for one single second of your worthless life what a burdensome, disappointing, broken beta you are._

“No, it’s not true.  It’s not. I can be good,” he protests, desperation creeping into his voice; he struggles to keep it a whisper, knowing the Alpha will probably hear anyway.

            _Of course he’ll hear.  You’ll interrupt his conversation._

_A conversation you were listening to even though it was none of your business._

_Disrespectful little shit._

_You should be punished.  Derek doesn’t like to punish, but you’ll leave him no choice._

_Bad betas must be punished._

“No, I can be good.”

            _You’ll try._

_And you’ll fail._

_You’ll fail miserably, beta._

_You know you will, don’t you?  Of course you do.  Damaged brain that loses memories and training and can’t even begin to understand how things work here._

_You’ll disappoint for sure._

_They’ll leave you._

_Who could want a damaged beta like you?_

_He doesn’t want your body, and that’s what you’re best at giving; you know that, don’t you? What else could he possibly want you for? Your mind? Your mind is weak and fractured and fragile.  You’ve got nothing of worth to offer this pack.  They’ll see it soon._

_He doesn’t want you near his pack, or else he would have allowed you to stay at the pack house.  This place doesn’t smell like pack, not really, just the barest traces.  They’ll leave you here, cast out like the burden you are._

_Maybe if you start begging now, he’ll just kill you instead of leaving you behind._

_But you don’t deserve anything so sweet as death, do you, beta?_

_Such good training in your mind, but it’s not enough to make you good._

_Nothing will ever make you good._

_Decent, perhaps; you could be decent enough to keep until a replacement could be found, but there’s no hope of you being kept for long, not really._

_You’re not worth keeping._

_Weak._

_Repugnant._

_Embarrassing._

_Tormented._

_Crazy._

_Hopeless._

****************************************************

 

            “—so I’ll go and—wait—what’s that sound? Is that Stiles?”

            Derek’s back in the house before he even finishes posing the question.  Isaac’s right behind him.  The whimpers of pain from the kitchen make Derek sick with dread.

            _Oh, God. What now?_

            “Stiles?” Derek calls as the sound of muffled sobbing grows more and more clear.  “Stiles?!”

            The scene awaiting them when they reach the kitchen is something Derek’s not so sure his nightmares could even dream up.  Wretch is curled in on himself, clawing desperately at both ears.  Blood pours down both sides of his head and dribbles off his chin where he’s biting his lip ‘til it bleeds in what Derek can only guess is an attempt to stay quiet.

            “Stiles, no! Stop!” Isaac orders as they rush to intercede. “Stop!”

            Wretch only sobs louder as Derek takes hold of his wrists to pull them away.  Isaac hurries to grab towels to staunch the bleeding. Derek’s trying hard not to think of the damage that may have been done that not even werewolf healing could fix.

            “Stiles, look at me,” Derek commands in the Alpha tone, and the distraught beta opens his eyes obediently; Derek relaxes just the slightest to know he can at least still hear.  “You hear voices?”

            “Please, make it stop! Please! Please, Derek, please!  I’ll do whatever you want; I promise. Anything. Everything! Please, please make it stop! I’ll be good, Derek! Anything you want! Please, make it stop!”

            “I can’t, Stiles, but they’re not real.”

Wretch wails in despair at the statement, and the sound is so forlorn that Derek barely fights back tears of his own.

 _I’d give anything to make them stop, Stiles, but we can’t.  I’m so sorry we can’t help you.  I’m sorry for all of it._  

“Isaac’s going to get a sedative for you, okay? It’ll stop while you sleep.  They can’t hurt you anymore.  They just want to keep you worried and afraid.  I want you to feel safe and loved because you _are,_ Stiles.  No matter what they tell you, you belong in this pack. You belong with us.  Don’t let them convince you otherwise.”

Wretch sobs out a reply that Derek can’t understand, curling in further on himself, pulling against Derek’s grip as though he wants to resume shredding his own flesh in hopes of silencing the voices. Derek can’t fathom how unbearable it must be—for Wretch to show even the slightest resistance to his Alpha.  

_Is it what they’re telling you? Or that they’re loud? Damon talks about how loud they get. Or is it memories the voices bring back? Fuck, there’s all kind of horrible shit that could be echoing in your head right now. And you’ve never had to deal with them, not as Wretch._

“Please, Alpha, please!” Wretch gasps out between sobs, banging his head back against the counter behind him since Derek has his hands restrained.

“Stop, Stiles, don’t do that.  Don’t hurt yourself anymore. It’s okay.  Isaac’s getting your medicine.  It’s all gonna be okay,” Derek promises, though the reassurances don’t seem nearly enough. 

_Who’re we kidding? It’s never going to be okay, is it? It’s all just one clusterfuck after the other.  It’s never fucking okay, and even when it is, it’s just the calm before the next storm._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much love to you all; thanks for reading
> 
> and much thanks to my lovely fellow angst-igators Michael and Nicole.


	13. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so, beloved readers, we reach the final chapter but NOT the final PART :) 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

            Derek’s relived to see Cora’s cherry red hatchback in the drive when he gets home. It’ll make pulling John away from the kids for a moment or two much easier.  The sheriff doesn’t look surprised in the slightest when Derek asks to speak with him for a minute upon his return to the house. 

            “Guessing it’s something to do with why Collin’s been in the tree house since I got here.”

            Derek nods. 

            “Collin and Isaac fought,” Addie supplies.  “And Collin went to the tree house.”

            “They know, munchkin,” Cora says.  “Come on; I want you to give me a makeover.”

            “Out of earshot?” John suggests once the girls disappear down the hall; Derek nods. 

The sheriff breaks the silence first once they’re well away from the house. 

“So all I really got out of Isaac is that he lost his temper with Collin, and that Collin has been going through the notes on Stiles?”

            “He read the copies of the information Isaac’s been composing, and not just some things about what Stiles has gone through, but some things about Isaac’s abuse too.”

            “Kid’s too damn curious for his own good,” John mutters.  “If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear there were some Stilinski genes in there somewhere,” he adds with a small smile.

            “I need—want—your advice,” Derek blurts unceremoniously; the sheriff obligingly drops his smile for a more serious look and nods.

            “Of course.  What’s on your mind?”

            “It’s about Stiles and—and Mrs. Stilinski when she—with everything that—”

            “While she was dying,” the sheriff supplies, voice gruff but unwavering.

            “Yeah.”

            “What about it?”

            “Did you ever—did you think about just keeping Stiles away from her? Sparing him all the—so he didn’t have to—have bad memories of her and see her like that and all?”

            “Of course I did,” John replies, “but no matter how much it hurt to see her like that, she was still his mother.  He still deserved and _wanted_ every second he could get with her.  I still wonder how many memories of those last days may have done more harm than good in the long run.  I hope to God I made the right choice in letting him be there; there’s no way to be sure I don’t guess, but I’d do it the same if I had to do it again.  Pain and sickness and death are part of life. You can’t protect your kids from that no matter how bad you may want to; knowing you can’t protect them doesn’t make it any easier, but it’s still the way the world works. All you can do is try to stand by them while they face it—let ‘em know you’re facing it together.”

            “He’s just—he’s _eleven._ He’s grown up too much already.”

            John shrugs.  “I know the feeling,” he replies wearily, “but honestly, they’re never going to grow up as slowly as you’d like.  He thinks he can handle a lot more than he really can, but he _is_ also a lot more mature than most kids his age.”

            _Maybe he’s mature, but he doesn’t have to be. He has a chance to be a kid a while longer. He has a chance to put off shouldering Alpha responsibility.  He doesn’t have to worry, so why does he want to be in the thick of it so badly.  Can’t he just understand that we’re trying to do what’s best for him?_

“So you want to know what I think you should do?” John wonders, and Derek nods. “I think you start accepting that he wants more responsibility than you _need_ him to have.  I agree he should be shielded from a lot of what Stiles has been through, _but_ I think if you give him a taste of his place as Alpha-Elect it’ll appease him and prepare him and keep him from going on half-baked recon missions like this again.  If he’s anything like Stiles was with his mother’s sickness, if you don’t make Collin feel a little included, he’ll be listening at doors and reading lips and sneaking around to get any bit of information he can because he’s so sure he can help. That’s all he wants.

I know how guilty you feel that you can’t keep him from seeing a parent struggle.  It used to make me sick to see the look on Stiles’ face every time we walked in that hospital, but I think it helped Stiles as much as it helped Jo for him to be there.  He felt like he was contributing; it was an illusion of control.  Kids need that when their whole world is getting unstable.”

Derek nods agreement, absorbing the words.

“That makes a lot of sense—especially the control thing.”

_I can definitely understand the need to feel like you’re helping somehow, no matter how miniscule.  It’d drive me crazy not to be able to try my best to help Stiles through his episodes._

“For the record,” John adds. “I didn’t figure all that out on my own. We had a few tantrums of our own in the Stilinski house.  They referred us to one of the counselors at the hospital.”

Derek smiles at the admission.

“You boys are doing a fantastic job with those kids,” the sheriff says.  “Maybe it’s not the easiest childhood, but all chance of that pretty much ended when those hunters massacred their family. Now they’re here; they’re safe; and they’ve got parents and grandparents and pack that love them. That’s the important thing.”

“Thanks,” Derek manages.

_Not only for this talk, but thanks for being here, for being a dad to all of us and not just to stiles, for always knowing what to say, for all of it. I don’t know how you do it, really, after everything.  I don’t know how you haven’t just lost your mind with all the shit that keeps getting thrown your way.   But thank fuck you do keep it together._

“Pretty good at the pep talk thing, huh?” he asks Derek with a grin.  “Perks of being old as sin.”

“You’re not _that_ old.”

“Tell that to the little werewolf who was severely disappointed in my inability to give endless piggyback rides.”

“Cora’s overdue for a hideous makeover anyway,” Derek assures.

“I’ll go see how that’s coming,” the sheriff says.  “You go check on Collin.”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t worry; I’ll snap a couple blackmail pictures,” John promises with a chuckle.

 

***********************************************

 

            Isaac hears Stiles’ whimpers from the den before he fully wakes. He hurries to be there when Stiles opens his eyes.  He’s too late it seems, and by the time he opens the door Stiles is curled in a ball on the bed, watching fearfully as Isaac enters.

            “Hey, it’s okay.  We just thought you’d be more comfortable resting on the bed.”

            “Thank you, Isaac,” he replies quietly.

            “Do you want to get up or you want another dose of sedative to—”

            “No, Isaac, please!” He rolls from the bed onto his hands and knees, as he implores, “I’ll be quiet and stay still and I won’t hurt myself without permission I _promise_! I don’t need more! Please, I don’t, Isaac! _Please,_ I’ll be good! I—”

            “Okay, okay, no more sedatives,” Isaac agrees, rushing to kneel in front of Stiles despite the way he shies back from the advance.  “We only gave it to try and help you, Stiles.”

            “Th—thank you, Isaac.”

            “It’s supposed to stop the voices and let you rest.”

            Stiles doesn’t look up or reply, and a sick feeling spreads through Isaac.

            “Stiles, did the sedative stop the voices?”

            Stiles shakes his head.

            “So you could still hear them, you just couldn’t speak or move or anything?”

            Stiles nods, and Isaac fights the urge to hold him close and sob apologies.

            _We made it worse instead of better. Oh, God, we trapped you in your mind with them screaming and no distraction. Fuck, Stiles._

“Yes, but—but I’m okay. I can be good now—useful.  I’ll be quiet and not hurt myself and I can make dinner or—”

            “You don’t have to prove to me that you’re good,” Isaac soothes. “I know you’re good. We all do.  Even if you can’t remember how valued you are in the pack, we still remember.  You don’t have to be afraid here, no matter what the voices have said to you.”

            “Thank you, Isaac.”

            _Is this the first time the sedative has failed you? Or have all three personalities been pretending it helps? How long have you been pretending? How could we fail to notice? Why didn’t you tell us?_

_Dammit, Stiles, if you were just trying to be tough or protective or whatever else, I’m gonna be pissed. We don’t need the sheltering more than you need our help._

            “If you want to, you could tell me what they say,” Isaac offers. “I’ll let you know if it’s true or not—explain things if they told you half truths.”

            “I can share if you want.”

            “If _you_ want, I want to help you feel at home, Stiles.  That’s the goal here. We want to help you remember that you belong here and that you’re safe.”

            “Th—they said—that—that—”

            Stiles closes his eyes and shakes his head.

            “No, no it doesn’t matter what they said,” Stiles insists firmly. “Because I’m gonna prove them wrong. I’m gonna be good and useful and I won’t disappoint Derek or you or the pack!”

            Isaac can’t help beaming at the confidence in the assertion.

            “Exactly!” he encourages.  “You’re going to prove them wrong; we’re all going to.  You aren’t bad, and we aren’t disappointed with you in any way. We love you, Stiles.”

            Isaac’s stomach growls; the events of the day pretty much smothered his appetite, but the gurgle gives a useful changeover as Stiles’ face alights with purpose.

            “I can cook, Isaac. Whatever you’d like.”

            “Thank you, Stiles; it would be awesome if you’d make supper for the two of us. Let’s go see what’s in the kitchen, okay?”

 

******************************************************

 

            “Let me guess,” Collin says as Derek approaches.  “I’m grounded.”

            “You’re not wrong,” Derek replies, “but that’s not all I’m here to talk about.”

            “Want me to apologize? Because I’m not gonna—”

            “I want you to come down here so we can have a mature conversation like two adults. That’s what you want, isn’t it? To be treated like an adult?”

            “Yeah,” Collin admits with a tone of surprise, emerging down the ladder and turning to face Derek once he’s on the ground.

            “Okay, so you want to be treated like an adult,” Derek says. “We want you to get a chance at being as normal a kid as possible. I think—”

            “I’m not some dumb kid!” Collin interjects.

            “Did I call you a dumb kid?” Derek asks. 

            “No, but—”

            “And did it sound like I was done talking?”

            “I guess not.”

            “No, I wasn’t,” Derek confirms struggling to keep the tone of annoyance out of his voice.  “If you’d let me finish, I was going to say that I think maybe we can compromise.”

            “Compromise?” Collin repeats skeptically.

            “You are still only eleven; you are still our son; you are still Alpha-Elect and not acting Alpha, _but,”_ he goes on as Collin opens his mouth to protest.  “ _If_ you can act maturely, it might be good for everyone involved if you had a little more responsibility in the pack.”

            “Wait, really?”

            “Yes, really, but you’re going to have to be patient, and you’re going to have to accept that you have to do what you’re told sometimes, like it or not. That’s as much part of being mature as anything.  Sometimes the role you play for your pack isn’t the one you want to play, but it’s the one that your pack _needs_ you to play. _And_ I _did not_ say that we will treat you as if you were an adult; you are still a kid, no matter how old you feel. You still have to listen to and obey the adults in this pack.  We _do_ understand that your older than the others kids though, and you can be very mature when you want to be. I’m hoping you step up to the plate and show us that you can handle it.”

            “Dude, I _totally_ will. I swear, Derek.”

            “And it’s going to start with _small_ things,” Derek goes on.  “The more you show us the level of responsibility you can handle, the more responsibility you’ll get.  Okay?”

            “Yeah, sure. Like what?”

            “I’ll talk to Isaac and Stiles about it; we’ll talk with you once we’ve decided on some things.”

            “But that’s not fair!”

            “Not fair?” Derek asks incredulously.

            _You have no fucking idea how much you’re already pushing it; you should be damn glad you’ve got a good grandfather._

            “Stiles might not be Stiles for a long time,” Collin expounds, “and Isaac’s mad at me!”

            “Isaac is not mad at you.”

            “He shoved me against a wall!” Collin counters angrily.

            “You invaded his privacy and brought up the most painful memories of his life,” Derek counters unforgivingly.  “Neither of you should have handled the situation the way you did.”

            “Everything I said was true.”

            “That doesn’t matter,” Derek replies.  “You took information about very horrible and difficult things Isaac has been through and used it as ammunition against him because you were mad. It was selfish, childish, and cruel.  You know better.”

            Collin doesn’t argue, and the defiant set of his face wavers just a bit, so Derek goes on.

            “You’re right; what you read and said was true.  Isaac spent a lot of years living in fear of a man he loved who was supposed to protect him.  He’s hurt himself and others because of the after effects of those years of abuse. He’s had to work incredibly hard to get past it, but he’ll never be completely past it; every day he still has to deal with it on some level.  Even though he has his own awful stuff to handle, he puts other people first. You know what he goes to school for?”

            “To be a counselor like Ms. Morrell.”

            “Exactly. He takes all the bad stuff he’s dealt with and tries to use it to figure out how to help other people.”

            Collin doesn’t seem to have a reply to that; he’s got his head down now, scuffing the toe of his show in the dirt.

            “So I think you owe him an apology—more than one really,” Derek goes on. “And not some half-assed, two-word apology either. Clear?”

            “Swear jar,” Collin jokes quietly, looking up with a slight smile.

            “I asked you if I was clear,” Derek replies immovably, unwilling to give up the sobriety of the moment.

            “Yes,” Collin answers. 

            “Good,” Derek replies. 

            “Am I still grounded if I apologize?”

            “Yes, and you’re lucky it’s only two weeks.”

            “Two _weeks_?!”

            Derek raises an eyebrow in silent you-really-wanna-push-your-luck question.

            “Okay, fine.”

            _Fine for now at least; it’s not so hard to make the plan sound good.  It’s the follow-through I’m worried about._

           

*********************************************************

 

            Damon blinks, and he’s in the kitchen of his father’s house. He glances around, but no one’s here. There’s a pulse nearby though.

            “Hello?” he calls, following the sound.

            “I’m in here,” Isaac’s voice replies from the den.  “Everything okay?”

            “Um—I’m—I’m Damon.”

            “Oh, hey, Damon,” Isaac greets when he walks in the den; Damon can’t help the surge of happiness at the genuine smile on Isaac’s face. 

            “Hey.”

            “Guess you can figure Wretch was here, not too long though, just a day or so.”

            “Making meatloaf,” Damon adds.

            “Yeah,” Isaac replies.  “Did you see that or know it?”

            “Knew it,” Damon tells him, “but—how? I don’t—we don’t get Wretch’s memories.”

            “You’re all still blending I guess.”

            “So that’s good?”

            “In the long run at least,” Isaac affirms.

            “So Wretch isn’t as bad as he usually is?”

            “You know how unsettled you felt when you started thinking more like Stiles? He’s about a hundred times worse.”

            “Oh, that’s—not good.”

            “No, not really, but changes are for the better sometimes; it’ll be a good thing for him once he can process it.”

            “Can he?” Damon wonders.

            It’s a worry that’s been on his mind since the whole idea of merging came about:

            _If I have so much trouble and so many awful flashbacks and nightmares and all the conditioning I can’t fight back, how much more pathetic must Wretch be? Can Stiles really take on all that and all the horrible things in my head and still be Stiles? What if we ruin him?_

The thought sparks a familiar conflict in Damon, the ever-warring desire for Stiles to be well again for the pack’s sake and yet also the desperate yearning for Damon to have some place here too.

            “I hope so,” Isaac says.  “I have to hope so.  It’s the only way the three of you will be able to get better.”

            The sound of the oven timer beeping startles him, and Damon hurries to attend to the meal.  Isaac follows him into the kitchen. 

            “Do you want to stay here and eat?” Isaac wonders.  “Or would you rather go home?”

            “Can we leave the meal here for Dad and get burgers and curly fries from Caroline’s?” he wonders, words tumbling out before he really means to express the idea, but he doesn’t have a chance to be worried he’s said something wrong; Isaac’s beaming at him.

            “Yeah, of course we can.  That sounds awesome.”

            “Really?”

            “Definitely. I’ll help you get this all packed in the fridge and cleaned up and then we’ll head out.”

 

**************************************************************

 

            Somehow leaving and coming back didn’t help Isaac ready himself to talk to Collin about what happened; it seems it made him dread it all the more.

            Part of Isaac wants to hold his son and apologize; part wants to calmly lecture and reprimand him for snooping through Isaac’s notes and using personal information to land low blows in an argument; yet another part of him still crackles with quiet anger at Collin for his actions—to scream and yell and make the kid understand.

_He’s got no idea what life could be like without decent family around to keep you from losing your goddamn mind until you run off with a wolf pack because you think it’s the only way out, and then watch as that family fails you too until you manage—_

            “Isaac?” Damon says quietly as they walk up to the house. “Is something wrong?”

            “No, just thinking,” he lies.  “I’m fine.”

            “Hey, Isaac,” Addie greets, opening the door for them. “Damon!”

            “Hey, kiddo,” Damon greets with a smile, and there’s an easiness in the way he uses the title only Stiles’ usually employs; Isaac can’t help but grin. “What’s new?”

            “I’m gonna have a princess birthday party next week!” she informs.

            “Really? That’s great.”

            “Yep! Aunt Lydia took me shopping and we picked out all kinds of decorations and food and games and we’re even gonna have dresses for everybody to dress up in!”

            “Got one in my size?” Damon wonders, and Derek snorts out a laugh at the joke.

            Addie’s face falls for a minute, “We got you a prince jacket,” she tells him. “Don’t you wanna be a prince?”

            “Of course! I’d love to be a prince,” Damon assures.   “Your birthday. Your rules.”

            “Prince Damon!” Addie declares, face alight again.  “We’re gonna play tea party, but with real princess tea and a fancy tea set and big tables out in the yard!”

            “That sounds fantastic.”

            “And a castle cake! Stiles was gonna make it, though.  Can you now, Damon? Pretty please with sugar on top?”

            “I’d be happy to make it; you can even help if you want.”

            It’s easy to get caught up in Addie’s infectious giddiness as they unpack the to-go boxes from Caroline’s at the dinner table.  Isaac’s dread has almost retreated to the back of his mind until Collin emerges from the hall. 

            “Hi, Collin,” Damon greets with a smile.

            “Hey.”

            It’s the only word Collin says the entire meal. 

Later, when they’re clearing the dishes, Collin murmurs, “Hey, Isaac—I’m sorry about—ya know.   Everything.”

“I’m sorry too,” Isaac replies.  “We’ll talk later okay?”

Damon’s having a good night, and the stress of an argument—if one should break out again—between his Second and Alpha-Elect would likely shatter the contentedness. The initial ice-breaking apology is enough of a Band-Aid on the wound for now.  There’ll be a better time to really discuss things.

 

**********************************************

 

            “Derek, can you braid my hair like Rapunzel?” Addie wonders as the credits on Tangled start to roll.

            Cora raises a skeptical eyebrow.  “You sure you want Derek braiding your hair?”

            “I taught him like you taught me,” Addie replies.  “He does it even better than Damon.”

            “Oh, really?” Cora wonders with a smirk that clearly conveys Derek will never live this down.  

            “Shut up,” Derek mutters to his sister before taking the brush Addie offers.

            The repetitive motion is actually kind of relaxing.  Plus, it calms Addie down, so maybe she’ll get to sleep at a decent time—one bedtime story instead of five.  Of course, if anyone had told Derek a few years ago that he’d be happily braiding hair and enacting fairy tales and painting tiny fingernails, he probably would have laughed in their face.  Cora’s smirk has given way to a smile now as she watches from across the room. He hopes—maybe a little vainly—that she’s thinking of the way Dad used to braid his daughters’ hair sometimes. Derek always thought it was dumb and girly, but he knows now how valuable and precious every good family memory is.

            Addie yawns at least four or five times before Derek’s done—Damon’s much quicker, but Derek’s fingers don’t work as fast—and her eyes are drooping, so Derek scoops her up once he’s secured the braid with a hair tie. She whines in protest.

            “I’m not sleepy,” she insists. 

            “Sleepy or not, it’ still bedtime.”

            “Can I have a story?” Addie requests.

            “I’ll read you one,” Isaac offers, reaching to take her into his arms. “Derek’s going to go tell Collin it’s bedtime.”

            “Yeah,” Derek agrees, readily enough.

            The awkward tension between Collin and Isaac was palpable at dinner. Maybe the initial apology was given, but there’s still a lot lingering there; Derek wishes he knew how to nudge them in the right direction.  He hopes a little time and talking will help, especially if they’re able to reach a good place with the give-Collin-more-responsibility plan.

 

********************************

 

            Damon’s immersed in a level of ease and contentment he didn’t know even existed. There’s something about being here with the others that quiets all the worries and highlights the happiness; it’s not an unfamiliar feeling, just more genuine and intense than Damon’s felt before. He wonders if this is how Stiles feels all the time; he hopes it’s how it’ll be for Stiles—Damon and Wretch too he supposes—when the three are all combined back and things are better.   It’s a wonderful blanket of security against the endless thoughts of how it could all go wrong, and Damon basks in the restful sense of tranquility that not even the lingering tension between Isaac and Collin can cast a shadow on.  Cora’s assured him it wasn’t a big argument and he shouldn’t worry. Derek nodded agreement, and it was easier than it’s ever been to take the two at their words and push the fret aside, for now at least. 

            Damon tidies the living room with Cora as the kids get tucked into bed. He doesn’t feel presumptuous at all in making his way to Isaac and Derek—and my?—room once everything’s straightened up. He climbs into bed and under the covers to wait for them to come to bed.  He dozes off before they come back downstairs though, stirring just slightly when they climb into bed on either side of him. 

            “Shh,” Isaac soothes.  “Just us. Go back to sleep.”

            “Mmm,” Damon agrees.

            He’s not sure if it’s Isaac’s lips or Derek’s that brush his temple in a quick kiss, but he smiles regardless.   He drifts back to sleep with the smile on his lips and a sense of serenity settling in his mind.

 

***********************

 

            Derek wakes to find Damon gone already, slipped out without waking Derek or Isaac.  Derek debates rolling back over to seek a few more hours sleep; he didn’t sleep so well with all the residual Wretch worry and this shit with Collin and Isaac weighing on his mind.  In the end he rises quietly, glad he manages to keep from waking Isaac, and heads out into the den.  Damon’s sprawled out on the couch more comfortably than Derek can remember seeing him.  Addie’s perched at the end of the couch paying rapt attention to this episode of Doc McStuffins, and Cora’s dozing in the recliner.

            “Morning,” Derek greets.

            “Hey, Derek,” Addie says absentmindedly.  “Look, this one’s a new one!”

            “I see,” Derek replies, though they all kind of seem the same episode to him.

            “There’s coffee in the kitchen,” Cora offers.

            “And I think there’s some of your cereal in the pantry,” Damon offers sleepily.

            It should be a normal sentence, but it’s so much more than just the words. Damon realizes his lapse almost immediately, jolting up to his feet.

            “I—”

            “You’re right; there’s cereal in the pantry,” Derek says. “Nothing for you to worry about. Relax again.  I’m gonna grab breakfast and eat in here.”

            “Thanks, Derek.”

            “I’m glad you’re enjoying your morning.”

            “I always enjoy my mornings.”

            “Well, it’s nice to see you relax while you enjoy them.”

            _You didn’t make me breakfast. You didn’t sit out the cereal and milk even.  You were just hanging out with Cora and Addie and not worrying about being useful or good. You were just being yourself for maybe the first time I’ve ever seen when you’re Damon._

“Jeez, Derek, if you grin any wider you’re gonna split your face open,” Cora says. “Go fix your coffee and stop staring across the den like a creepy lunatic.”

            “Your face can split open if you smile too big?” Addie wonders skeptically.

            “No, munchkin, not your pretty little face; just Derek’s big doofy one.”

            “You look just like him,” Stiles—Damon? Stiles? Derek doesn’t know what to call him now the lines are blurring—points out to Cora.“Careful what you claim.”

            “Ha, ha, very funny,” she answers, rolling her eyes.

            “Aunt Cora, can we—”

            Addie never gets a chance to finish her question.  In the next moment, the whole house erupts into the nightmarish din of shattering glass and rushing flames.  The Molotov cocktails seem to burst from every window at once, as do the arrows and gunfire that follow.  A blind, smothering panic grips Derek so tightly he can’t even manage to draw breath.

            _No._

_Not again._

            _Please, God, no._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally all going to be one big thing, but I decided to split here (don't hate me too, too much?)
> 
> Unending thanks to my betas, SliteringAngel and En_Kelleher (who you can blame/thank for the braiding bit of fluff)!
> 
> Thank you so much again for reading! And as a general reminder, you can find me on tumblr at [my personal blog, ](http://packdontendwithblood.tumblr.com) or [my writing blog,](http://vague-shadows.tumblr.com) or you can email me at arebutvagueshadows@gmail.com

**Author's Note:**

> A great thanks as always to my lovely betas! 
> 
> Another shout-out to all of you who commented last part to reassure me that you're in for another part with me :) the encouragement and feedback meant a lot!
> 
> As always, I love to hear from y'all! Feel free to hit me up with questions, comments, or just to chat if you want :P If you're in the neighborhood, I'm packdontendwithblood on tumblr (or vague-shadows for writing post only) or arebutvagueshadows@gmail.com


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